Oxygen
by Jenthewarrior
Summary: When the case of a terrified young girl leaves House trying to pick up the pieces, he shares an unexpected moment of intimacy with Cuddy, leading them down the terrifying and unpredictable path of parenthood. It's time for House to solve the biggest puzzle of them all - his own future.
1. Visitor

House was reclined in his chair, his feet propped on his desk to ease the pain radiating from the center of his thigh. He had the newest issue of some trashy tabloid spread across his lap, serving as a makeshift plate to hold his M&Ms while he mindlessly sifted through them. Every now and then he flipped one into the air and tried to catch it in his mouth. He'd been at it for hours, avoiding clinic duty and his team by keeping the door to the conference room locked – they'd walked up to it several times expecting to phase through, but each time he got a new smear on the glass and a frustrated scowl. He just held up a sign proclaiming he was on break.

His relaxation was cancelled when a little girl knocked on his door. She was alone, and pint-sized, no more than five years old, no less than three. She had a backpack on, indicating at least pre-K, but, judging by the intelligence in her eyes as she gazed around the hallway, the anxiety presenting in the little twitch of her fingers, she was smarter than the other kids. She probably thought they were boring. She wore a sparkly green princess dress that almost hid her bedazzled tennis shoes, and a whole mess of curly brown hair hung around her head. Someone had taken the time to pin it back. When she saw him looking, she smiled, and her eyes shone with health, not disease. She didn't have an IV attached to her arm, and the siren wasn't going off to indicate a missing child. That meant she wasn't supposed to be in the hospital at all. She'd managed to wander all the way to his office, past the security guard and right through a whole mess of nurses.

He rolled his eyes and closed his magazine. "_What_?"

She jumped when she heard his voice. "Are you Doctor House?"

He cupped his hand to his ear and shook his head, pretending he couldn't hear her. She raised her voice and tried again, but he kept it up until she was yelling at him through the glass. One of the nurses chatting in the hallway moaned dramatically and pushed the door open for the kid, giving him the stink eye.

The little girl took long, purposeful steps to the chair in front of his desk. She sat down, running her fingers over the armrest and pulling herself to the back so her feet dangled below her. House waited almost a minute for someone to show up and claim her, but the hallway was emptying. It was almost time for the night shift to start, almost time for him to head home. He couldn't very well leave a little girl in his office – or could he? Was there a law against that?

He leaned over the desk and used his kid-whisper. "What are you doing here?"

"The nurse let me in."

He took a breath. "I saw that. I mean _here_, the hospital. What are you doing in a hospital alone?"

She smiled a little and squirmed, "My mom showed me where this place is."

"Does your mom work here?" he reached for his phone.

"Nope."

His hand dropped. Carefully keeping himself between curiosity and annoyance, he got up and sat on the edge of the desk, looking down at his little visitor. She looked up at him briefly, but then chickened out and focused on his knee. "What's wrong with your leg?"

He waggled his finger at her. "I ask the questions. How do you know my name?"

"So you are Doctor House!"

"That's how I sign my checks."

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Answer the question."

"My mom told me about you."

"But she doesn't work here?"

"No."

He rubbed his temple. "Why are you here, in my office, right now?"

"I wanted to meet you before mom came in."

He narrowed his eyes. "Meet me for what?"

"You're gonna fix my sister."

"I already have a patient, and my department only does one case at a time. _I_ pick them. You can't just show up and-"

"That's not what Ms. Cuddy said."

He groaned, reaching for his Vicodin. He should've known this had something to do with Cuddy. Leave it to Cuddy to send a five-year-old to do her job for her. She must've figured House wouldn't yell at the kid. If she wasn't so damn cute he would have. He suppressed his anger and hauled himself off the desk, pulling the kid up by her arm and leading her to the door. "Let's go see her now. If you're in the room, I might be able to resist strangling her."

XxX

"You're all about solving mysteries and finding miracle cures – I don't understand how this case is any different than the others you take. We get requests for your opinion all the time. You would know that if you ever checked your mail or your _messages_."

"I don't care," he growled. "I don't want another case. The case we're on is complicated enough. We're like a well-oiled machine, you can't just add another gear and expected us to-"

"It's not your decision. In case you forgot, I'm still the boss around here." Cuddy crossed her arms over her chest, setting her jaw. She was set on this.

"Pulling the boss card? That's just _low_."

"I _am_ the boss. You'll meet with Jenny Smith and her daughters tomorrow and tell her that you're taking the case. If you screw this up, I swear you'll never see the outside of that clinic again."

"Oh, come on, her name is _Smith_?" he turned, holding out a hand to the little girl on the couch. "No offense, kid, but your last name sucks. Why couldn't it just be _Jones_ or _Doe_?"

Cuddy crossed her arms. "That's enough, House. It's done. I don't want to hear it." She looked at the little girl, who'd been sitting calmly on her couch this whole time. She didn't seem bothered by their argument. "But you, missy, have some explaining to do. I thought I made it very clear that this place is not a playground."

"I know, but I wanted to meet him before mom did, so I could tell him to be nice to her."

House scoffed, but Cuddy ignored him. "I know you want to look out for her, but you can't just leave school like that. Everyone's probably worried about you."

"They don't care about me," the kid murmured, hanging her head. Cuddy melted and sat on the couch beside her, pulling her into her side. House was immediately suspicious.

"Do you know this kid? I mean _know_ her, as in before you used her to get the sympathy vote?"

Cuddy glared at him. "Jenny is an old family friend. She recently moved back from California; she asked me if I could help with-"

"Aha! Prioritizing based on a personal relationship! I'm going to the press!"

"I was already prepared to offer her your team. Jenny's timing couldn't have been better." She smiled down at the kid, who seemed interested in her words. "But just because you know me doesn't mean you get to wander around on your own. You could've been hurt on your way here from school, or you could've caught something, or-"

"You sound like my mom," the little girl said. She looked at house, one strand of dark brown hair coiling against her cheek. "Can you walk me home?"

"You mean can I _limp_ you home?" She laughed, Cuddy smirked. "No. I have a patient to take care of. I'm pretty sure his melting liver is more important."

The little girl's eyes widened. "Your liver can melt?"

"Mine can't, and yours can't, but his can, apparently." He headed for the door, throwing a hand up as he went. "Nice to meet you-"

"Maddie," she cut in.

"Maddie. Right. Do me a favor and tell your sister she's not allowed to be annoying."

XxX

House beat his palm against the coffee machine, smiling when it started working again. Behind him, his team poured over a series of diagnostic journals from the seventies, popping up every time they found something involving the liver. He like to see the looks on their faces when he shot them down. When he had his coffee he went back to the board and erased 'fever,' writing it out again with an 'intermittent' in front of it.

Cuddy came in, leading the little girl by the hand. "House, I need you to watch Madeline until her father gets here." She stopped beside the table and all three of his minions stared at her. The kid kept her eyes on the floor.

He narrowed his eyes. "There's a whole wing for that. It's called pediatrics."

"She won't stay with anyone else."

"There's a security guy by the elevator. Cuff her."

"Just _watch_ her, and try not to influence her in any way."

"Why can't you watch her?"

"I have a meeting."

"Call social services."

"He'll be here in two hours."

"Give her to the nurses. Half of them are infertile and in need of girly giggles to get them through another night of ramen noodles and cold sheets."

She scowled, put her hands over the kid's ears, and started whisper-yelling at him. "She ran from the nurses, bit the security guard, and the other kids wouldn't play with her. She said she wants to stay with you."

"She doesn't _know_ me," he hissed back.

"You try explaining that to her, but right now I've got to go to a state meeting; I don't have time for this. Just keep her occupied for two hours. She's your new patient, so you might as well get to know her."

"She said her _sister_ is my patient."

"She lied. Kids do that. Just watch her, okay?"

"Whoa, wait, a new case?" Foreman cut in.

"Shut up, mommy and daddy are talking," House snapped at him. He looked back at Cuddy. "What makes you think I won't just dump her in my office with a yo-yo and let her blow out her eardrums playing with the stethoscope?"

"Because you're a jerk, but you're not a jerk to kids, especially sick ones who think you're a superhero."

She moved her hands from Maddie's ears before he could respond, thwarting his comeback. It wasn't fully formed yet, but he was sure it would've been great.

"I'll tell your dad where to pick you up, okay? Don't let this happen again, Maddie. You're a smart kid, I expect you to follow the rules."

Foreman closed his book, his forehead wrinkling as he gave House one of those inquiring looks. "When were you gonna tell us you accepted another case?"

"He just found out," Maddie defended.

Foreman glanced at her, and then at his coworkers. "Okay, so what's wrong with her?" He looked the little girl over, narrowing his eyes. "She looks… perfectly healthy."

"What part of 'just found out' is confusing for you?" House wondered, flipping his book open and jabbing his finger at the page. "You don't get paid to gossip. Find the bacteria or start filling out Malcolm Cash's toe tag." He limped for his office door, rolling his eyes when the kid followed him. "Stay here and supervise. I have to do grown-up stuff."

"I-I don't want to," she responded, jumping ahead and going into his office. He turned, finding his team amused by his situation. After giving them all a harsh look, he followed her. She'd already jumped into his chair and started spinning herself.

He put his cane through the arm and stopped her dead, nearly throwing her out. "Why didn't you want to stay in there? It's bigger, it has markers, and those three aren't nearly as cranky as me."

She didn't look at him. "I don't think those guys like me."

"They're all suckers for kids. Just give 'em the puppy dog eyes."

"The woman seemed nice."

"She didn't even say anything."

"Why don't you want me in here? You're supposed to fix me."

"I don't even know what's wrong with you," he murmured dismissively, booting her out of his chair and sitting down heavily. He propped his leg up on the desk, groaning as the tightness in his thigh shifted to a sporadic throbbing.

He considered the girl for several minutes, pouring over her face, her movements, and her breathing. She seemed healthy, as Foreman had said, but there was a small anomaly in her behavior. She was being clingy toward him, when most kids went straight for Cameron. She seemed overly trusting for a five-year-old. She should've been shaking in her boots, but she was fiddling with a marble like she was sitting on her own couch.

"Come here," he ordered, dropping his foot and sitting straight. He picked her up and set her on the corner of his desk, pulling his stethoscope from the drawer. He hadn't officially accepted the case yet, so Cuddy had neglected to give him her medical records – or any background on the kid. He was stuck with his own eyes and ears. He gave her a full physical, tested her reflexes, and threw some questions out to measure her critical thinking skills. She was well-spoken, polite, and strong-minded, able to cling to ideologies rather than changing her mind every time he expressed disapproval. Her heartbeat was regular, her body was strong, and her immune system didn't seem to be compromised in any way. She was just a regular kid.

So why would Cuddy go out of her way to get this case to him, without his knowledge or consent? What was so special about this little girl, aside from their personal relationship?

While he sat back and stared at her, mulling over the possibilities, she took an interest in his jar of candy, her eyes sparkling at the prospect of sweets. He opened it and poured some M&Ms onto a napkin, taking some for himself and trying to catch them in the air. One landed on his lip and the little girl giggled, throwing her hand over her mouth to dim the sound.

He raised his brow. "If I said I did that on purpose to make you laugh…?"

"Yeah right."

"Thought so. I'm used to heavier things. These are too airy. See those marks up there? I keep hitting the ceiling." He poked her sparkly shoes with his cane. "You're in kindergarten, right?"

"Right."

"Who goes to school in costume?"

Her eyes sparkled just like her shoes. "We did a play today. I was Dorothy. I got another dress from my class before I left – I like this one better."

"You're well-spoken for a five-year-old."

"My mom's really smart."

"Hmm. You won't have to worry about me being mean to her, then. If she never screws up, she doesn't get the cane," he held his cane up like a weapon, smiling. She grinned at him.


	2. Hurt

House picked through his plate with the two remaining prongs on his plastic fork. He'd gnawed the other two off while listening to Cameron's report on their patient's sporadic vital signs. He was on the inside of one of the cafeteria's little booths, a teeny girl in a princess costume blocking his escape. She seemed to be mimicking him. He'd forced Cameron, Chase, and Foreman to squash together on the other side instead of letting them deliver their reports standing up.

"If we don't do something tonight, he'll die," Cameron concluded, closing her file and setting it on the table. She brushed some hair from her face, her eyes following his fork. "I don't know how you can just sit there."

"What do you want me to do, stand over and breathe on him all night?" He pointed his fork at Maddie's plate, redirecting her attention to the food. "There's nothing we can do. He's dying. Chase, you had the cancer book, didn't you? Did you get to the H's yet?"

"We already checked for-"

"I know."

"The tests were negative-"

"And?"

"He doesn't have cancer."

"What if he _thought_ he had cancer?"

Chase blinked. "The press release…"

House nodded, shoving some fries into his mouth. He moved his hands like he was presenting a title. "Doctors discover revolutionary new method for curing liver cancer. Cancer no longer a death sentence. You can be, cancer free."

The three of them took that in, forcing themselves to accept that their patient would die no matter what they did. It was a reality that Chase and Foreman readily jumped on, but Cameron's brow furrowed, and she stared at the table. She'd been talking with Cash too much; she actually liked the guy. Foreman changed the subject before she could start blubbering.

"So, did you find out what's wrong with her?"

"I'm right here," Madeline muttered.

House put his arm around her shoulders, making a face at Foreman. "Yeah, dude, you're harshing her mellow." The girl giggled again. He dropped his arm. "Physically, she's perfect. All organs functioning normally, no abnormalities, no rashes, no bunny tails."

"Is Cuddy gonna give us a background, or just let us figure it out on our own?" Chase wondered. It was hard to tell if he was being sarcastic, given the accent.

House shrugged. "Well, seeing as we don't actually _have_ the case yet, it makes sense that we don't have her records. You see, she came here on her own. Left school in the middle of a play."

"The play was over."

"Whatever. Point is, she's not as afraid as she should be."

"So she's brave. That doesn't mean anything," Cameron said.

Foreman clenched his jaw. "Lack of fear can be a symptom of indiscriminate friendliness, which is indicative of severe neglect. I think-"

"Yada yada, neurologist jargon this, psychology mumbo jumbo that." He looked at the girl, flashing her a brief smile. "He was dropped when he was a baby. Right on the frontal lobe. He doesn't even know when he's talking. Tragic, really." He started scooting, forcing Maddie to get up. "Let's take this back to my office, less morbid." He addressed his team, "Make Mr. Cash comfortable, inform him of his own stupidity, and put him on the transplant list."

"He'll be dead before a donor is found," Cameron pointed out.

He turned as he was walking out. "Not everybody gets a happy ending."

XxX

When House took the girl to the lobby, exactly two hours after Cuddy had dropped her off with him, he found a lanky man pacing the rows of chairs. He stopped when he saw them, his face lighting up with anger. He put his hands on his hips. "Madeline Smith, what the hell were you thinking, running off like that?"

House could feel bad vibes rolling off this guy. "What were you thinking, taking two hours to pick up your missing daughter?" he countered.

"_Excuse_ me? Who are you? I was told she would be with a woman until I got here."

"Well, seeing as this isn't a _daycare _or Burger King, you can't have it your way. Don't bother feeding her – we had chicken fingers. They were delicious." He turned and limped toward the elevator, forcing himself to think happy thoughts. It wasn't his business. It didn't matter how interested he was in this little girl's 'issues.' He didn't have the case yet. He would have it in the morning, and everything he did would be _mostly_ legal.

But the dad just had to push it. "You stay away from my kid, you freak." He walked over, brushing against House like a territorial dog, and tried to pick the girl up. She flinched away, and, before her father could reach out to stop her, she took off for the stairs.

House stared after her, resisting a smile. Another symptom was rearing its ugly head. Friendliness toward total strangers, lack of basic childhood fear, and sudden episodes of sheer terror. "I think I see a future Olympian," he said, taunting the father.

"Don't just stand there!"

"Oh, gee, sorry about that. I'm off the clock." He headed for the door, dozens of medical journals floating to the top of his mind, but before he could even touch the door, he saw Cuddy coming in. She'd gotten off early, or left for some reason. She smiled when she saw him, but then frowned when she realized he was trying to escape. She knew him too well. She shoved her way through the door and pointed, her mouth open, at the man running toward the stairwell. House shrugged. "I didn't do _anything_. I don't know who that is. I'm going home."

"Please tell me you didn't lose her."

"Technically I returned her to her father. He lost her."

"Find her."

"It wasn't-"

"_House_."

He groaned and slumped his shoulders. "He'll probably just catch her on the stairs."

"Go anyway."

"You know I hate stairs. I have this leg thing."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Do you hear that?"

He let the door close, wishing he didn't hear someone coming back down the steps. It was the dad. He burst out of the stairwell, gasping for air. "Cuddy… thank God… I can't find… Madeline."

"Maybe if you put honey on your face-"

"Shut up, House." Cuddy paced over to the man, putting a hand on his shoulder. She seemed a little too familiar with him. House hobbled over, interested. She looked between them. "Madeline has an attachment disorder – she can't distinguish between people she should trust, and people she should be afraid of. You and I are on the trust list."

"Maybe you should've told me that when you left her in my office, Sherlock."

She glared at him. "It comes and goes."

"I'm assuming when you left it was 'goes,' and now that it 'comes,' daddy dearest is on the naughty list."

"Yeah," the man gasped. "It's random and unpredictable… sometimes it's… the other way around… sometimes she's afraid… of everyone. She's usually… reasonable."

"Oh, yeah, five-year-olds are great at reasoning. Just ask their imaginary friends." He leaned down a bit, examining the man. "It probably would've helped if you'd been nicer to her. You didn't say two words to her before you tried to drag her off."

"I was… mad at… Jenny. Made a mistake. Sue me."

House smirked. "You should get more exercise, unless that's an asthma attack I'm hearing." He looked at Cuddy, containing a smile. "An asthmatic, idiotic father and an absentee mother; you've captured my interest."

Cuddy shook her head, still glaring. "We have to find her."

"Oh, gee, really? Are you sure? Can't we just leave her here over night, let her fend for herself like in the olden days?" He limped to the elevator and jabbed the button with his cane. "I know where she is. And I get to come in late tomorrow, by the way."

"Whatever."

XxX

He found her exactly where he'd expected: Sitting in his other chair, trying to catch airborne M&Ms in her mouth. She flashed him a smile as he entered the room. He took the container from her and sat in his chair, leaning back and examining it. He wasn't really looking at it, though. His mind was already at work, examining everything he'd seen her do, every word she'd said, and every strange look she'd given other doctors.

"Who hurt you?"

She tilted her head, but said nothing.

"You ran from your dad down there like you'd never seen him before in your life, but you won't leave me alone, like you've known me for years. You're a smart kid, Madeline. You must know that's not normal."

"I got scared…"

"You get scared a lot."

It was a statement, but she still answered. "Yeah."

"So who hurt you?" he set the container down and leaned over the desk, staring at her. She looked away, squirming in her chair. "Was it your dad?" She shook her head slightly. "Your mom?" Again with the head shaking. "Someone you know?" She looked up quickly, reactively, and nodded. His chest tightened. He couldn't ask her anything else, not because of ethics, but because of his own reluctance to hear the answer. Suddenly he didn't want to solve a puzzle. It was strange to him, but overpowering.

Madeline reached over and picked the container up, opening it to get a few more M&Ms. "You're gonna take me back down there, aren't you?"

"You can't stay up here all night."

"I want my mom."

"Your mom's not here. You'll see her at home."

"She's not at dad's house."

He pressed his lips together. "Divorced."

She nodded, scooping out a handful of the candies and putting them on the desk in front of him. "You should go on a date with my mom. She's nice."

He couldn't resist a smile. "Is she hot?"

"Oh yeah," the little girl grinned.

House stood, hearing the elevator ding. They were coming to search this floor. He pulled her out of the chair and lifted her onto the corner of the desk, leaning down to get to her eye level. "Put in a good word for me, okay?" The kid nodded, smiling. He put one of his business cards, which were usually used for doodling, into her hand. "If you ever want to talk, how 'bout you just call? That way Cuddy won't yell at me."

He walked her to the door, waving at Cuddy as she rushed down the hallway. The girl's father was right behind her. Madeline shrunk back. He stopped and slowed his approach, reaching a hand out to her. "Hey, baby, it's me. It's daddy. You know you don't have to be afraid of me. You have to fight it, okay, sweetie? Remember what we talked about?"

House watched, fascinated, as the little girl approached her father, obviously terrified, but willing to work through it. He could see the hairs on the back of her neck standing up, and her hands were trembling. She blinked rapidly and tears formed in the pits of her eyes. He'd seen this condition in hundreds of abused children, those who sought attention, who _needed_ it to function, and those who were utterly terrified of it; but he'd never seen a child with both extremes battling for control. As the father walked her down the hallway, Cuddy leaned into his doorframe, rubbing her temples.

"She was afraid of Chase and Foreman, but she liked Cameron," he said, twisting his lips. "I've never seen a case like that. How did you meet her again?"

Cuddy walked inside and relaxed on his couch, trying to kneed a headache away. She sounded tired, and when she looked at him, he pitied her. "I met Jenny ten years ago at a medical conference. We must've hit it off, because I gave her my number. When Madeline was two she gave me a call – she said she was experiencing episodes of extreme terror provoked by people she'd known her entire life, and she would fight to stay with strangers like she thought they were her parents. It was the most bizarre thing I'd ever heard… I didn't believe it until I met her."

"And that was?"

"When she was three. I referred Jenny to Allen Mason at NYU – he's a child psychologist, one of the best in the field – but nothing he tried worked. They couldn't figure out what was wrong, let alone how to treat it." She met his eyes, her emotions boring into him. "I know we're not supposed to get attached to patients, but I love that little girl, House. I need you to… do what you do."

"What if I can't help her?"

She swallowed, looking down at her hands. "Then no one can."

"I'm not a psychiatrist."

"Oh, please, like you don't know everything they know, and more." Realizing she'd just given him a compliment, she got to her feet. She tried to be scathing, but her voice came out as a pathetic whine. "And I sign your checks."

He let his expression soften, sensing her distress, reacting to it. "That's a good motivator."

"Goodnight." She went to leave, and then paused in the doorway. "I took the bus here." It was a realization, and not a pleasant one. She gave him a harassed look, as if he'd personally arranged her mode of transportation. "I need a ride."

"Oh, no, I've had enough of you tonight. Take the bus. Walk. Crawl. Skip to your doo-da. I don't care." He grabbed his helmet and hobbled down the hallway, irritated that she could keep up with him so easily. She followed him to the elevator and waited, tapping her foot. He rolled his eyes and groaned. "_Fine_. But I get to work this case _my_ way. That means no supervisor hovering over me and double checking every decision I make."

"If it's a stupid decision-"

"You want me to fix this kid, right?" She nodded reluctantly. "I will, as long as you keep your mitts off my diagnosis. Forget your attachment to this kid; it's only gonna make it hard to hear bad news, and even harder to make rational decisions."


	3. Empty

House sat at his desk, going over the details of Madeline Smith's medical history for the fourth time that evening. He'd spent the entire day pouring over the details, committing every aspect of her life to memory so he wouldn't have to rely on the folder. Every time he read through it, he became more and more fascinated with her case. She five years, ten months, and twenty days old, with her birth mother's curly brown hair and glimmering brown eyes. She was put up for adoption one week after she was born, and the birth mother's identity was withheld – he stared at her medical workup, wondering why the father had a photo, and all she got was a silhouette and a question mark. The details on the mother were astounding – every inch of her body had been examined and documented, as if someone had expected the kid to go wrong. And then there were the hand-written notes stuffed in the back of the folder, crinkled from the frustrated doctor's time spent reading over them. Ernest Beaker, world renowned child psychiatrist. Allen Mason, NYU's leading researcher in the area of psychological disease presenting in early childhood. Both of them had begun with confidence, but as they recorded the kid's answers, their handwriting became harsher and sloppier.

She was a mystery, a paradox. She had two opposing conditions that had never existed within the same tiny mind, and yet she was still functional, even thriving. She was a danger to herself without fear, but she didn't stay up all night thinking about monsters under the bed. Her sympathetic and parasympathetic, not her actual memories or thoughts, dictated how she saw people. Run, don't run. Dangerous, not dangerous. Both pieces were overactive, fighting for control, making her behavior reckless, forcing her to experience the type of anxiety that strained the heart, waking her in the middle of the night as episodes of sheer terror took hold.

It was fascinating, but he hesitated to jump on it. He'd been teasing Cuddy that morning when she'd handed him the file, saying he might decide to pass on the case, but now that he was digging into the history of her condition, he was really considering that option. Something was missing. He couldn't put the puzzle together if one of the pieces was balled up in Cuddy's fist.

First she'd lied about Madeline being adopted. It was possible that she'd forgotten, but he doubted she was innocent. Also he found similarities between the birth mother and Cuddy herself – they attended the same college at the same time, both worked in 'professional settings,' and both seemed to value their privacy. When he visualized the girl he couldn't imagine them being mother and daughter, but something was definitely up, and he would have to figure it out before he could attempt to diagnose the kid.

Cuddy burst into his office, right on time. "You compared this man to _semen_? What the hell were you thinking? His daughter was in the room!"

"No, I called him a _seaman_. Big difference. He had a Navy tattoo."

"It was a _Popeye_ tattoo."

"False advertisement. Sue me."

"He might just do that." She paused, glancing at the folder. "So you've had a chance to go through it? I'm sorry I didn't tell you she was adopted – I didn't know until I got the file this morning."

He shrugged, watching her face for dishonesty. She was swimming in it. "Anything else you need to tell me before I make a decision?"

"A decision? You're taking this case."

"One last chance. Tell me everything or send this file back."

Cuddy sighed and sat back in her chair, her eyes on the wall behind him. "I need you to make her better, House. Isn't that enough?"

"No. _Tell_ me."

She narrowed her eyes, fuming. "I don't know anything medically relevant."

"I guess I'm not taking the case, then, since I don't know everything I need to know."

She stared at him. "You would really drop it that fast? You met her, you know there's something wrong. Foreman came to me this morning with a whole list of ideas. And you liked her. Don't tell me you don't give a crap about her."

House debated, and then stood up, limping around his desk and facing her. She stood as well, her eyes flickering over his face. "I don't give a crap about her," he stated coldly. In response to the flush of surprise and indignation on her face, he went on. "And I'm not taking the case. You can't force me because you have a personal stake in it. If the committee hears about that, they'll take my side, as much as it _infuriates_ them."

He headed for the door to the conference room, enjoying the rise he'd gotten out of her. She was beyond pissed, but she wanted him to take the case so badly that she worked past it. She cut in front of him, blocking the door, and glared at him. "No clinic for a month."

"Not good enough."

"What do you want from me?"

"The truth. It's on the tip of your tongue already, just spit it out."

Suddenly his office door opened and his team came in. Cuddy took a step away from him, huffing. He went back to his desk and sat on the corner, fiddling with the patient history like it was just a stack of copy papers. He absently rubbed his leg.

"Go on, spill," House said distractedly. He took an interest in the history again, pouring over the details he'd found pointless earlier.

"Cash is dead," Cameron said.

He looked up, checking her mental state. She would be fine. "Did his organs get accepted?"

"No, the self-treatment stressed the muscles in the heart. They took one look at it and turned it down." Foreman walked over, looking at the history. "Is that Madeline's chart?"

House glared at him until he backed away. "I'm taking the case on alone. She's not being admitted; the problem is psychological. Isn't that right, Cuddy?"

Cuddy nodded, releasing a tense breath.

"You guys just inherited a forty-nine year old man with liver failure: Here's the kicker, he's never had a drink in his long, celibate, god-fearing life. Have fun." He picked up the folder, which had been handed to him by the good folks in the ICU. Foreman took it, glanced over it, and grimaced. House tilted his head. "Oh, did I mention he has explosive diarrhea?"

He got up and ushered them out, hanging in the doorway as they took the stairs to the first floor. When they were gone, he shut the door and went back to his desk, popping a pill as he put his feet up. Cuddy was watching him like a wary snake.

"Relax, I'm taking the case. That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

"Yes, but what changed your mind?"

"I'm in a giving mood. Now skedaddle. I have work to do."

XxX

House placed his hands on either side of the old man's neck, checking that his glands weren't swollen. His sons watched anxiously, but his wife was busy staring between House and the little girl who had a permanent grip on the tail of his coat. He pretended not to notice, going on with the examination until he was satisfied the old man was perfectly healthy.

"You said he coughed? Once? Just one cough?"

"It was more like a wheeze."

"Right. Suck on some cough drops and stop breathing through your mouth when you chew." He stepped back, jotting down his conclusion on the chart.

The wife raised a finger, her head tilted. "Is that your daughter?"

"You can see her too?" House demanded, making his eyes wild.

She jumped, looking to her family for support. One of the sons rolled his eyes and laughed a little. House patted the girl's head and went for the door. "She's my intern. They get younger every year. I'll be carrying a fetus around before you know it."

He walked out, his little intern matching his every step. She stopped beside him at the nurse's station while he picked up his next folder.

"Is that guy gonna die?" she asked.

"One day."

One of the nurses looked up, disgusted.

He shrugged. "What? No reason to lie to the kid. Everybody and everything dies eventually. It's all a matter of when." He glanced down, finding her hanging on his every word. Great. He was doing that thing Cuddy said not to do. "That's why I'm here," he went on, bopping her on the head with the folder as he limped toward the next exam room. She followed. "To keep people alive longer, until they're so annoying someone kills them."

He found a guy hacking in the next room, so he swiped a face mask and put it on the kid before he let her come in. She climbed onto the counter and watched him work. He listened to the man's chest, cringing when he heard fluid sloshing around. He was in the advanced stages of the flu, and apparently he'd forgone cough suppressants. When he looked down his throat, House could see scarlet veins running up and down, rubbed raw from coughing, sneezing, and complaining.

"I'm prescribing you an antibiotic to fight the infection in your throat," he told the guy, writing it out on his pad while he spoke. "Take them twice a day, every day, for a whole week. If you don't, you'll get your very own bed in the hospital."

"What about my head? It always hurts."

He poked the guy in the temples, making him flinch. "Your sinuses are full of snot. Once the flu passes you'll be fine. Drink water, not soda. And stop biting your nails, that's just gross."

He handed the man his prescription and helped Maddie off of the counter, walking out of the room with her in tow. She slipped her hand into his, holding on stubbornly when he tried to pull away. He got a few giggles out of the nurses.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," he grunted, dropping the folder and jotting down his findings. He spotted Cuddy in the hallway, a scowl on her face. "Hiding spot alpha," he whispered, hobbling as quickly as he could to the empty exam room at the end of the hall. Maddie went for another room and he stuck his head out. "Your other alpha." She skirted to his side and giggled as he closed the door and turned the light off.

"She's gonna find us," she laughed.

"Close your eyes and cross your fingers. Her sight is based on movement."

The door opened and the light was flicked on. Cuddy stared at both of them. "House, I'm not gonna disappear just because you think it really hard."

"I was going for spontaneous combustion," he admitted, nudging the kid so she'd open her eyes. He cut Cuddy off before she could say anything. "I'm in the clinic, prescribing things, writing stuff in charts. What more do you want from me?"

"I want you to take her back to school. She won't learn anything if she's never there."

"We're just watching a movie today," Maddie piped up.

Cuddy crouched, holding the little girl's shoulders in her hands. Now that he saw them face-to-face, he noticed similarities in their anatomy. Same nose shape, same lips, same eye sockets. He'd even gotten the Cuddy glare from Maddie when he'd stolen her last cookie and wolfed it down before she could take it back. But that was impossible. He'd known Cuddy five years ago, and he would've noticed a pregnancy.

"It doesn't matter what you're doing in class, you just have to be there," she told the girl, her voice taking on a gentleness she'd never used with House.

"Is that estrogen I smell?" House wondered.

She scowled up at him for a moment, and then looked back at the kid. "House is here until five. Why don't you come when school's out tomorrow?"

"Do I _have_ to leave?" she whined.

Cuddy crossed her arms, glancing at the clock. "It's almost three anyway."

"Yes!" Maddie turned and hugged House around the waist, clinging to him like Cuddy had been trying to drag her away. He did his best to scrape her off, but she had a strong grip.

Cuddy smiled, laughing at him. "Don't take her in with the patients. She can stay at the nurse's station. Understood?"

He saluted her. "Yes drill sergeant."

XxX

House was laughing as he came out of the exam room. He'd managed to make at least ten puns about his last patient, most of them involving his baldness. It was a new personal best. He looked up, searching for his pint-sized protégé on the counter of the nurse's station, but she wasn't there. Neither were the nurses. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled with apprehension.

"Some guy came in and she ran for it," a nurse gasped, running back into the hub from one of the hallways. She passed House and reached for the panic button under the desk. He stopped her. She stared at him, wild-eyed. "We have to close the hospital down!"

"I know where she is," he reasoned. "She has a panic disorder, and a safe place. I'll call you if she's not there. Deal?"

The nurse looked unsure.

"Sending everybody searching for her won't make it better – she'll get worse."

House took the elevator, mashing the button a hundred times before it stopped on his floor. He moved so quickly that his leg began to simmer like it was on fire. He passed his team and their patient, who was apparently on his way to some type of surgery, but he didn't stop to ask what they'd found out. That guy's puzzle wasn't even on his table; Maddie's was.

He stopped at his office door, staring inside. She was definitely in there. His chair was back against the wall. She must've been hiding under the desk. He slipped inside quietly, his footsteps the only indication that he was approaching. She would hear them. He leaned around, noting the sparkling shoe poking out from the shadows. The door opened behind him and Cuddy stepped in, about to snap something at him – he held his hand up, pointing urgently at the desk. She shut her mouth and stared down at it, matching his quiet approach.

"He's gone now," House called, leaning against his bookshelf.

He heard a whimper. She was crying.

He slid down to the floor, his injured leg throbbing nonstop. He saw an eye peering out at him, curious, and then she poked her head out. "Doctor House?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"I-I-I-I can't, I can't… I can't…"

"Shh," he whispered. "You're experiencing an attack. You've had one before. You know how to fight it." He looked up as Cuddy got to him. She sat beside him, mimicking his position, leaning into his personal bubble to see the little girl. Maddie withdrew. He glared at Cuddy, and then started fiddling with his cane, speaking to the kid in a low whisper. "It's just Cuddy – don't worry, I hide when she comes into a room, too. It's the eyes, very weasel-like."

She elbowed him. "Maddie, you can come out now, sweetheart."

"Are you scared of us?" House tested. If her condition was targeting them as threats, there was no chance of her leaving her safe place.

She poked her head out again and shook it. Silvery tears hit the carpet. "I-I-I-I… there was a man. He's gonna hurt me."

Cuddy was about to say something, but House cut her off. "He left. He's not coming back."

"A-A-A-Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Suddenly she crawled out, closing the distance between them and crashing into him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on with a vice grip. He put his hand against her back, stunned, and glanced at Cuddy. She was smiling at Maddie, blinking tears away from her own eyes.

"Okay," he admitted. "Maybe a hospital's not the best place for her, but neither is a school."

"I think it was the clinic. No one ever comes in your office."

"No way, mom, are you saying I can keep it?"

She smiled gently again, this time at him. "One of your team members can take your hours this week. Stay in here with House until he leaves, okay?" she touched the kid's cheek, smiling sweetly. "I'll take you home later."

"There's no one there."

House and Cuddy looked at each other, and then at the girl. House wrenched her away from his chest, "What?"

She blinked. "Mom and dad left. They said you would take care of me."

"That's… that's not possible," Cuddy stuttered. "Who got you ready for school this morning? Who drove you? Who-"

"I walked. I know where it is."

"It's field trip time, House."

"Oh, boy, can I ride in the front seat?"

"Only if you promise not to lick the window."

"Why would I…? Oh, ah, see what she did there, kid? She's saying I'm like a dog."

Cuddy patted him on the head. "Good boy. Oh, that's a smart boy. Wanna go for a ride in the car? Do ya? Huh? Do ya?"


	4. Dark

They found an empty house. It was muggy, despite the near-freezing temperatures outside, with boarded windows and balled up newspaper filling gaping holes in the living room walls. Boxes were stacked in the corner of the kitchen, none of them unpacked. Some had slits in the sides where objects had been removed with surgical precision. Dishes filled the sink and the faucet was dripping, but nothing had been disturbed for at least a day. The bedrooms had no clothes, no quilts, and no pillows. Someone had taken the soaps and shampoos from the bathroom. House found himself following Madeline, watching the smile she'd developed in the car fade into childish sadness – lonely, but not alone; sad, but able to laugh. It came out when they were quiet, and vanished when the noise came back.

She led him around the circular home twice, and then stopped in the kitchen, looking through one of the holes. He could see stuffed animals inside. She turned from it and walked through the hall, into the little back bedroom she'd been sleeping in. She glanced at him, smiled faintly, and then walked over to take his hand. She squeezed his palm as if she was in physical pain.

"They left me on purpose, didn't they?"

He released the breath he'd been holding. He had no answer for that. He looked at the little princess bed, the blankets still spread everywhere, the pillowcase stained with purple juice. Her toys were still on the floor, and a coloring book with a half-colored zebra was open beside the bed. Everything else in the house was empty and dismal, but this room was exactly the same as they'd left it. They'd packed up and abandoned their daughter. Just like that.

Cuddy came into the room, her hands on her hips. Worry lines wore deep into her forehead. "I found this in the living room." She handed him a sheet of paper. It was a legal document signed by both the mother and the father, passing guardianship of Madeline to Cuddy. He stared at it for longer than he should have, suppressing his opinion of the parents to think logically.

"Call the cops," he stated, handing the paper back.

Cuddy held the paper like it was a live wire. "I can't do that! What if they put her in foster care? This might not even be a real guardianship form."

"It doesn't matter."

"It _does_ matter," she snapped.

He shook his head, catching an overflow of emotion in her voice. His suspicions about her being Madeline's real mother were confirmed – the disgust on her face, the tremor in her lip, the glaze on her eyes – but he felt no satisfaction. "No, it doesn't," he responded, his voice gentler. "We're in the middle of treating this kid for an unknown, possibly life-threatening disorder. While she's receiving said treatment, she can be placed in the care of a willing and responsible adult – like, I don't know, a doctor. Maybe even a dean of medicine."

Her anger broke and she smiled involuntarily. She wiped a tear away before it could leave her eyelid. Despite her obvious relief, she cringed. "You don't know that."

"Call them."

"No."

"Fine, I will." He pulled out his cellphone. She grabbed his wrist. He sighed, meeting her angry glare with a calm expression. "Will you trust me for once?"

"I always trust you," she whispered, releasing his wrist. "You better not be wrong about this."

XxX

House slurped down the last of his shake, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He got a tolerant smile from his severely stressed out boss and a giggle from the girl in the booth beside him. She was hidden against the wall so she didn't freak out every time someone walked in, but she still managed to get a lot of adoring looks from the waitresses. Wilson sat directly across from her, toying with his chicken strips while he had a deep, philosophical conversation in his own mind. He was deciding how he would rationalize what had happened.

"So, how's parenting?" he asked, glancing between House and Cuddy.

"It's much easier than I thought," House said, sliding the rest of his brownie across to Maddie. She devoured it in two bites. "I get to skip the diaper changing and go straight to the screaming and running. And I get to sleep over at Cuddy's place. How great is _that_?"

"Uh, spectacular," Wilson murmured, cocking an eyebrow at Cuddy. She rolled her eyes and looked away, having lost that argument a while ago. He looked back to House, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "You two aren't…?"

"God, no," Cuddy said immediately.

"She's just shy," House said.

Wilson nodded, smiling briefly at Cuddy. "Good luck. He's grumpy in the morning. It's like sharing a house with a two-year-old."

"Why can't you just stay at your place?" Cuddy groaned, rubbing her forehead. "I'll call you if anything happens with Maddie."

"I need to see everything – I'm diagnosing her, remember?"

She evened her gaze into his. "Fine. Keep her at your place tonight."

"You want to avoid me _that_ badly?"

"You can be responsible, when you feel like it."

"Don't you want to wake up for midnight potty breaks in dark hallways?"

"I have a job to do."

"So do I."

"Right now she _is_ your job. And she's obviously not willing to let you out of her sight."

Wilson cut in, finally catching wind of their growing hostility. "House, she can have the couch. I'll find a hotel to stay in." He glanced at Cuddy. "You really don't want him at your place, huh?"

"He's a pervert, and a child; I'm pretty sure he'll go through everything I own."

"You're right. He can't control himself."

"I'm _right_ here. I won't go through your stuff, scout's honor."

"Shut up, you weren't a boy scout," Cuddy snapped. "She's staying at your place. End of discussion. I have a meeting tomorrow morning and a lecture to attend at lunch. The state granted a temporary escort to take her from school to the hospital at three-thirty; after that, she's your responsibility." She stared into his eyes, trying to convey the seriousness of the situation. He stared back, trying to figure out whether or not she had eyeliner on. "House, she's not a puppy, and she's not a plant. She's a _child_. Watch her, play with her, feed her."

"Funny how you ranked puppies as _less_ needy than plants," he commented. "I guess certain species… flytraps? No, they're pretty self-sufficient." He glanced down at Maddie. "Can you obtain nutrients through photosynthesis?"

She nodded, grinning toothily.

He looked back at Cuddy, who was far from amused. "See? She just needs a few hours in the sun, some water, and somewhere high up so the cat won't chew on her."

"I can take her tomorrow night. Keep her alive until then, okay?"

"Will do, el capitán." He scooted out, towing the kid with him. He patted her on the head. "Come on, Greg Jr., it's time to check up on my minions." He winked at Wilson. "You'll pick up the bill, right, buddy? _Great_."

XxX

House sat on his couch, his legs propped on the coffee table, his eyes glued to the television. He fiddled aimlessly with the remote, changing the channel, adjusting the volume, turning it on and off. He had a hundred ideas running through his mind, banging around and trying to get attention, but he could only focus on one at a time. His head was throbbing from lack of sleep, and his leg was searing from lack of Vicodin – Madeline thought it would be funny to flush them down the toilet, just to see them spin around. He was using alcohol as a substitute, but it could only do so much. It stunted his thoughts and made the flames in his leg more like a hundred knives stabbing in and out of his nerves. So he played with the TV, hoping the movement in his fingers would distract him from the pain and frustration.

His bedroom door opened. He looked up, pausing on the food channel. Madeline stood there with her stuffed gorilla under her arm, her eyes barely open. She walked over to him, her little feet making soft noises on the floor, and stared at him for a moment, poking her bottom lip out. It started to tremble. Oh, God, she was crying.

"I wet the bed," she whined.

He rolled his eyes and got up, almost falling when pulling his foot down sent a powerful wave of pain up his spine. His vision went black for a split second. Maddie flinched away from his flailing hand. He caught the couch, cringing. "Go get my cane."

She retrieved it, watching anxiously as he limped across to the bedroom. He rolled his eyes again at the monumental stain covering his side of the bed. Of course she'd chosen to sleep there. He started stripping the sheets, tossing them into the hamper. He had her drag it to the washer, and then he loaded it up and let it do its job.

He went into the bathroom, started the water, blocked the drain in the tub, and sat on the edge, dropping his cane so he could rub his leg. Maddie stood in the doorway with her head down.

"Come on, you can't go back to sleep covered in pee."

"I… I don't want you to be in here."

He stood up again, going to the door and pushing her toward the tub. He cracked it and sat in the hall. He could hear her sniffling. "I'm not mad," he said, scratching some grime from the top of his cane. She said nothing. He stared at the floor. "There's no reason to cry about it."

"How do I stop the water?"

He sighed. She was better at deflecting than he was. "Push the handles down."

XxX

An hour later he had a kid in fresh pajamas pretending she was surfing on the dryer. He stayed in the living room, flipping through abnormal psychology books like they were magazines. He left the television on the food channel, preferring that Maddie tell Cuddy how cool it is to steam vegetables, than how horrifying it was to watch a lion eat an antelope. Besides, the TV was giving him reading light, and he didn't feel like turning the lamp on.

Maddie joined him in the living room, standing cautiously by the arm of the couch and watching the screen. He realized suddenly that he hadn't brushed her hair. He sent her to the bedroom for the brush, and then had her sit crossed-leg beside him on the couch, facing away. He pulled a thousand knots out while she whined and squirmed.

"I can't believe Cuddy wants one of you," he commented, dropping the brush on the coffee table and shoving her toward the other cushion. She giggled and tried to push him back. "You're full of snot, and _pee_," he went on, unable to help a small, reactive smile as he tickled her ribs. "And you eat everything in sight, and use all the toilet paper, and take the comfy _bed_."

Maddie jumped up, fending off his hands with both of hers. She was laughing uncontrollably, but she still managed to speak. "Miss Cuddy says _you_ do all those things."

"Oh yeah?" he demanded, grabbing the pillow behind him and whacking her with it.

"Yeah!" she declared, jumping from the couch and backpedaling. She stuck her tongue out. "You can't catch me. I'm faster than you."

"It's my house, I know where the trap doors are."

Her smile widened. "There aren't any trap doors."

"You say that now, and then you take one wrong step," he warned.

She walked in a circle. "You're crazy."

"You're _short_."

"_Old man_."

"_Bed-wetter_."

"_Midget_."

"You already called me short."

"I was hoping you wouldn't know what 'midget' meant."

She walked over again, hopping up beside him. She put her feet up and crossed her arms, focusing on the TV. He watched her, curious, and then realized she was mocking him. When she saw him glaring she cracked a smile. "Why are you so grumpy?" she asked.

He shrugged, propping his feet up and turning the channel. He landed on the forecast. "You flushed my pain meds, remember? I kinda need those, you know, for the pain."

"I thought they were vitamins."

"Did they _look_ like the Flintstones?"

She was quiet for a moment, and then, "Why aren't you mad at me?"

"I didn't know peeing the bed was a felony."

"What's a felony?"

"Nothing. Forget I said that." He flipped to cartoons, glad it was Looney Toons instead of one of those stupid new shows. His train of thought jumped tracks. "Did you have a nightmare?"

She nodded, drawing her knees up to her chest. Her eyes were fixed on the TV, but in the low flickering he could see her brow furrowing. She was thinking.

"Was it about your mom and dad?"

"No, I was just… alone. There were people there, but they couldn't hear me. I kept talking to them but no one looked at me."

"Were you scared? Like when you saw that man in the clinic?"

"No, it was different."

He put his arm around her. She scooted over, nestling herself into his side, and began to cry again. This time it wasn't blubbering – silent tears rolled down her cheeks, almost unnoticed by her. House knew that this nightmare, though bad for her, wasn't connected to her illness. It was just what happened when a little girl's life got turned upside down.

"Hang in there kid," he murmured, running his thumb up and down her arm. She was cold. He pulled the blanket from under them and wrapped it around her. He felt something for the kid that he never thought he'd feel, something far different than pity, or obligation, or even rational connection. He'd just met this kid two days ago, and he already loved her. He was already prepared to throw down with her idiotic father. He was already giving in to the most basic of fatherly behaviors – protection.

He got up suddenly, startling the kid. She pulled the blanket around her shoulders and stared up at him, curious.

"I have to… do something. Stay here. Don't blow anything up."

He sat on the steps outside, his eyes on the empty road. His bare feet rested in the slush. The cold helped his leg, but it drilled a hole in his mind. He couldn't tell if it was the alcohol or the lack of Vicodin driving him to such arbitrary emotions, but he couldn't let it go on. He got things done because he was objective, not because he cared about his patients. He cared about solving the puzzle, not comforting the person behind it. Earlier he'd been considering a vast array of problems based on what he'd observed, things he'd been able to take at face value, but now they seemed strange and untrue – perhaps he'd only been seeing what he'd wanted to see, to make her diagnosis less drastic, more curable.

He wanted so badly to fix her that he couldn't even find the problem.


	5. Madeline

It was dark, but Cuddy could still see the outline of the baby's body against the splintered boards of the dock. It was lying there, wrapped only in a thin blanket, its fat arms flailing toward the empty sky. She could hear it whining, but its cries were weak, barely discernable from the push and pull of waves on the lakeshore. She was running toward it, her heart beating out of her chest, her breath drawing the sharp cold into her lungs. By the time she got there the baby was gasping for air. She hit her knees and scooped it into her arms, cradling it to her chest. It still had blood on its face, the remnants of a violent birth. She placed two fingers on its neck. Its heart was barely beating. It was becoming paler by the second.

"Lisa!" She heard flip-flips pounding toward her. Flashlights bobbed across the water. Several people dropped on either side of her. One of the paramedics wrapped the baby in a heating blanket while the other worked on its vital signs. Cuddy was pulled to her feet, her arms still spread as if she was holding the infant, and one of her friends rubbed her shoulder.

She followed the party down the dock, her legs numbing as the adrenaline gave way to shock. The flaring lights of an ambulance disturbed the simple country setting, illuminating the faces of the people who would never forget this night. She looked between them, her eyes settling on Jenny. She'd been there when the shots had been fired. She would never recover from this.

XxX

Cuddy woke with a start, her heart pounding against her ribs. It was still the middle of the night, only half an hour after she'd closed her eyes, but it was like she'd spent a lifetime in that memory. She pushed it away, thanking the neighbor's dog for barking so she didn't have to go back to sleep. She didn't want to relive what had happened next.

She didn't have to try very hard to stay awake. She set her mind on the meeting she'd had that morning – apparently a Chinese ambassador had a stomach bug and he insisted on being brought to her hospital to wait it out. The nationals were beyond rude, even through a translator, and they made outrageous demands left and right. Eventually they'd agreed to a less extreme arrangement. When her anger at them faded, she thought about Maddie. Would she be alright with House? He didn't had a paternal bone in his body. He was obnoxious, childish, and cold most of the time, and Maddie was in a vulnerable state. If he said one wrong thing, he could ruin her for life.

She turned on her side, mashing her face into the pillow. Her head throbbed in time with her pulse. She thought of all the reasons she'd made the right decision – House needed to observe her behavior if he was going to figure out what was wrong, and he was responsible enough to keep a kid alive for a few hours, even if he never let it show. Besides, she didn't want him in her house. She could only imagine how that would work out. It wasn't time to relive their college days.

She rolled to the floor just before the sun came up, throwing on some jogging pants and pulling her brush hurriedly through her hair. It was a reasonable time to check on them.

It was freezing outside, but she didn't bother going back in for her coat. Now that she was out of bed everything felt rushed – lack of sleep made her edgy. By the time she turned onto House's street, the sky was beginning to glow, and the edges of his apartment building were outlined harshly against the peach-colored clouds. She didn't bother knocking – she knew he kept his key above the door, to the left of the frame.

She opened his door quietly, making sure she shut it before she let the cold in. His apartment was a mess, as always, but it was warm, and it smelled like fresh rain. The main room was dark, the couch occupied by one man-shaped figure completely enveloped in blankets. Empty plates covered the coffee table, along with two half-full glasses of milk. She smiled to herself. Maybe he was a better babysitter than she'd given him credit for. She walked down the hallway, glancing into the bathroom. The tub was filled, the top of the water covered in a thin, soapy residue. The faucet was dripping. Madeline's pajamas were balled up in the corner.

She moved on to the bedroom, laughing aloud when she found it covered in a web of white and blue sheets. It was a fort, completed with a hand-drawn flag.

She could hear a soft snoring from within the blankets, so she crawled around them to the bed, where the fort ended. House was curled up on his side, out of the covers, dangerously close to the edge. He had his cell in his hand, probably from helping his team solve a medical mystery, and his cheek rested on a thick book detailing the complexities of spinal surgery.

Cuddy moved to the other side of the bed, where Madeline was in the same position as House, only covered in sheets. She had a sticky note on her forehead that read 'bed-wetter.'

She went back to House's side of the bed, suddenly curious. "House? Who's on the couch?"

He cracked one eye open and groaned, stretching out. "Wilson." He rubbed his right thigh. "Whatdya mean 'how did it go?' She peed on everything, ate my entire stash of chocolate chip cookies, and drank up all my milk." He sat up, letting his legs hit the floor. She took a step back to give him space.

He tried to stand, but almost collapsed. She caught him, shoving him back onto the bed. "What's wrong? Is it your leg?"

"No, it's my nose," he snapped sarcastically, rubbing his palm up and down his thigh.

Madeline stirred, turning over and looking at Cuddy. If she'd been any cuter, Cuddy would've melted right on the spot. She was bleary-eyed and beautiful. She yawned, pulled the covers back, and crawled over the bed toward them, settling beside house and leaning into his arm. She yawned twice more, rubbed her eyes, and scratched the top of her head. "Morning," she mumbled.

Cuddy smiled. "Good morning. How did you sleep?"

"Good," she responded brightly.

"Yeah, after she peed on everything," House added.

She grinned at him. "He's mad 'cause I took his cookies."

"And spilled my milk."

It was turning into a Hallmark moment – the two of them smiled at each other. She'd never seen House smile like that; he must've been in an exceptionally good mood. It warmed her heart, but made her cautious. What if he was still looking into Madeline's birth mother? What if this was all an act to gain her trust, and then defeat her? She wouldn't put it past him, and she couldn't drop her guard. He was an evil mastermind, and he knew Maddie was Cuddy's weakness.

He seemed to realize the same thing, as he risked leg pain to hobble away from them. "You can have custody today; I have a new patient."

"I didn't hear about-"

"I got a call from the jailhouse; they say One-Eyed Willy's got a bad case of the who-the-hell-knows, and they need me to put a Band-Aid on it so he can attend his trial."

She pursued him, stopping him from entering the bathroom. "Trail for what?"

"Apparently he hacked his kids up with a sixteenth century Russian hatchet that he stole from the Smithsonian, which apparently needs better security. Can I pee now, or are there more questions?"

She moved from his path, cringing when he slammed the door in her face. Maddie came to her side and took her hand, yawning again. "Did that really happen?"

"No, sweetheart, he's just being dramatic." She led Maddie into the living room, where Wilson was sitting up on the couch. He rubbed his face, which had magic marker all over it. He smiled at them as they approached. "Morning," she greeted. "You have a little… marker."

He shrugged. "House draws on me almost every night." He stretched his arms over his head, fluffing out his hair. "So you're keeping Madeline tonight?"

"I don't know yet, I have a meeting at five and depending on what we decide, it may lead to another meeting and a review of the budget."

He stared at her for a moment, appearing puzzled. "I hope not, because House bought plane tickets after he called me last night." He moved one of the plates, handing Cuddy a roundtrip ticket to California. "What's in California?"

"That's where Maddie grew up… This plane leaves at eight."

The two of them turned toward the hallway, which had become eerily silent. Cuddy went to the bathroom door, listened, and then pushed it open. He was gone. Cursing to herself, she stormed back into the living room and took Maddie's hand. Wilson rose, glancing at the hall and biting his lip. "He called me over in case he had to leave before you showed up."

"I'm gonna kill him."

XxX

"Do you love House?"

Cuddy looked up, trying to knead away a migraine. She'd spent all day being harassed by Chinese businessmen, the hospital's board of directors, and some guy attempting to sue Foreman for being racist toward him, which really sounded like something House would do. On top of that, Maddie had made it her personal mission to drive her crazy. She moved papers around, almost set the desk on fire, and then had a panic attack when the handyman came in to deal with the plumbing – after she'd flushed all of Cuddy's business cards down the toilet.

She responded with strained patience. "For the tenth time, no."

"He said-"

"I know what he said. He lies sometimes."

"Why?"

"Because he thinks it's funny."

"Oh." She fiddled with the hem of her dress, thinking long and hard on that. "I think it's because of his leg. He needs funny stuff so it won't hurt."

"Did he say that?" Cuddy turned to her, stilling her pen. She'd been writing up a report on House's most recent misdeed, which involved hijacking an MRI machine to negotiate the safe return of his favorite toy – he was convinced his new patient had stolen it, and was therefore withholding a vital test to get it back. Now that he was gone for the day, she had the opportunity to make it look like a big misunderstanding.

Madeline hopped from her chair and went to the doors, looking out at the people in the clinic. She popped her lips. "No, he didn't talk about it, but I think I'm right."

"You're a smart kid; you probably are."

She turned, smiling. "That lady's out there."

Cuddy looked up. Cameron was walking around the nurse's station, smiling, and a folder open in her hands. Maddie was looking at her like she was seeing her mother again.

"Can I help her examine people?"

"No, you might catch something."

She continued to gaze out. "Who's that?" she asked quietly.

Her voice barely got to Cuddy's ears, but it sent a chill down her spine. It was happening again. She jumped up and rushed across the room, catching the kid as she turned and tried to run for the opposite end. Madeline's arms locked around Cuddy's waist and she pressed her face into her stomach, frozen to the spot. Cuddy rubbed the back of her head, catching Cameron's eyes through the door. She glanced around and shrugged.

It was Foreman. As soon as he opened the door and tried to speak, Madeline shrieked and released Cuddy. She ran right past him, toward the clinic's exit. Cameron jumped up and grabbed her, lifting her, kicking and screaming, into the air. Foreman skirted backwards, shocked, his hands up as if he was afraid he'd harmed her. Cuddy rushed into the clinic, trying to catch one of the kid's flailing legs. She was going to hurt someone.

"Let her go!" she ordered. "Let her run!" She turned Cameron toward the clinic doors just as she released Maddie. The girl shot through the gathering crowd, scrambling onto the stairs and disappearing to the next floor. She would go straight to House's office.

Cameron rubbed her arms, wild-eyed. "What was that?"

Foreman came up behind them, shaking his head, holding out his hands. "I didn't even touch her."

"It's okay," Cuddy told them, though her own heart was hammering. She could feel her pulse in her ears. "Just go back to what you were doing. I'm gonna go make sure she's okay." She went for the exit, and then paused, looking at Foreman. "Can you cover some extra hours today? We're short-staffed; I really need you to do this."

He nodded, still stunned. "Uh, yeah, sure."

"I'll stay, too," Cameron said.

The voices from the clinic faded as Cuddy made her way up the stairs. She found House's office open, but unlit. His chair was against the window. As she stepped in Chase got up in the next room over, leaning curiously to see what was happening. She waved him away, going to the bookshelf as House had done the day before. She could see Maddie's shape hidden in the shadow of the desk.

"Madeline," Cuddy whispered, tilting her head to check for a response. Nothing happened. "Maddie, sweetheart, it's me. There's no one else here. You can come out now."

She heard a soft whimper. "I want House."

"He's not here. Listen, you don't have to be afraid of me. You don't have to be afraid of anything while I'm here. I won't let anyone hurt you."

She peeked out. "Did he leave me too? Like my mom and dad?"

"He'll be back," Cuddy said with confidence, though she didn't know where it came from. "He'll be back soon. Just come out here, okay?"

She didn't get an answer. Madeline stayed under the desk for over two hours before she came out, and even then Cuddy had to coax her out of the office. She was trembling from head-to-toe, her eyes dilated, her arm hair standing straight up. Her heart rate was dangerously high, like she'd been running for miles.

It was almost five, and yet Cuddy stayed in her office, rocking Maddie gently in her arms. She had a meeting to go to, but it didn't seem important anymore. She could feel the girl's heart beating against her own, feel her fingers playing with the ends of her hair; she could feel the terror draining away, leaving a normal five-year-old behind. She kept her door locked and ignored anyone who tried to come in, letting Madeline become the focus of her world.

But the memory came back and forced itself into her mind.

XxX

She was in a rocking chair in the corner of their cabin, the newborn wrapped up in her arms. She rocked back and forth, her thumb running mindlessly over the baby's arm, their eyes locked in what was meant to be the intimate bond of mother and daughter. But she wasn't its mother. She was in the room with several of her friends, who took turns recounting what had happened to the officers. She listened to their stories, but she didn't retain the information. She was mesmerized by the baby; hours ago it had been on the brink of death, and a little warmth and milk had made it healthy again. She had saved its life. It was only breathing because she'd found it.

One of the officers ended the interviews with a heavy sigh. He was also burdened by what had happened, though he'd only been here after the shots were fired. "I have to take the baby to social services, unless one of you is willing to foster for the duration of the investigation."

Blank stares all around. Cuddy looked up, surprised none of them had jumped on the offer. She met the baby's gaze again, enthralled. "I will."

Everyone looked at her. The officer came over and crouched, putting a hand on her knee. "Remind me of your name again, please."

"Lisa Cuddy… I'm the Dean of Medicine at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital in New Jersey. I can take care of her."

"I'll need you to sign some papers, and I need some documents before I can release the infant into your care. Come with me." He stood, helping her out of the chair with one hand.

She followed him outside, shivering as a wave of cold air washed down her throat. The baby started crying. She bundled it up tighter, kissing its warm forehead. "Shh," she whispered. "It's almost over now. We're gonna get you a warm bath and some PJs so you can get some sleep."

The officer smiled at her. "You know, most people who foster an infant, no matter how temporary, go on to adopt it. Is that in your interests?"

"I don't know… I just want her to have a mom tonight."

He sat in the driver's seat of his cruiser, grabbing the radio. She wasn't listening to him, but as he finished the cars across the lake lit up and made their way over. He took some papers from another officer and started filling out information. "Lisa Cuddy," he said aloud, writing the name at the top of the forms. "What's the baby's name?"

Cuddy let the baby squeeze her finger, relishing in the warm, soft touch. She said the only name that came to mind. "Madeline. Her name is Madeline."


	6. California

House rubbed his forehead with his palm. "You were her babysitter for three years and you can't remember what she was like, where she lived, or where her parents worked?"

"I, uh, didn't keep track of that kind of stuff. Her mom dropped her off at my house every morning and didn't come back until the middle of the night, sometimes not until the next morning. She paid me so much that I didn't even mind the long hours."

"So you literally spent days at a time with this kid every week, every month, for three years, and you can't tell me anything about her?"

"It's, uh, confidential, right?"

"You're a babysitter, not a psychiatrist."

"Yeah, but I don't wanna breach their trust, so maybe they'll hire me again one day."

House leaned his cane against the wall and took his Vicodin from his pocket. He took two of them to avoid hitting this stupid kid in the face. "Listen, Einstein, I'm trying to diagnose this kid. I need you to tell me everything you did with her – what were her favorite movies, where did you take her in town, what did you feed her, how did she interact with strangers and family members?"

"I, uh, I don't know, man."

"Say 'uh' one more time and I'll break your jaw, and then wire it shut around a straw that steadily pumps a pulp of all the foods you don't like right down your throat."

"_Uh_… oh, man, don't do that."

"It's gonna be a long day, Frank."

XxX

Cuddy sat up against her headboard, holding the phone to her ear with one hand while she ran the other up and down Madeline's back. Every time she woke up she started crying again, so Cuddy tried to keep her sleeping, a tactic that would only work for so long. Whatever she had, it was worsening, and her mother and father had noticed. They'd brought her to Cuddy because they couldn't handle it anymore. Cuddy wasn't even sure she could.

"How long has it been?" House's voice came through the phone, deep and serious.

She glanced at the clock. "Over eight hours. She's terrified. It's not going away this time."

"Give it more time. Either the attacks are worsening, or Foreman's much more intimidating than I give him credit for. What's her pulse?"

"Too high."

"That non-medical answer tells me two things: One, you didn't even check, and two, you're treating her like your daughter, not your patient." He spoke coldly, logically, putting a label on something so it made sense to him.

She sighed. "How do I help her?"

"You can't, apart from sedating her. Wait it out. If it's not gone by morning, call me."

"That's great, you get to vacation in California in the meantime."

"I'm not _vacationing_, I'm researching. I've been to her daycare, spoken to her babysitter, and tracked down her old house – no one's been helpful so far. It's like the kid didn't exist." She heard crackling, like a bag of chips. "Tomorrow I'll talk to her dentist and her pre-K teacher. If it's progressing, it's a slow progression. People would remember a kid who ran away screaming every time a leaf blew across the sidewalk – she must've been normal here."

Cuddy shifted, laying her head on the pillow. Maddie grumbled something, but remained asleep. "Maybe you're in the wrong place."

"Nope. Pictures in the yearbook, property rented to James and Jenny Smith; I'm only having trouble finding the kid. Everybody knew her parents. You'd think they'd subconsciously decide to remember the least moronic member of the family."

She smiled to herself, glad he couldn't see her. He was emotionally invested in this girl. It showed through his voice, how irritated he was with her anonymity in her own hometown. If she mentioned it, he would only try to prove her wrong. It was best to let him feel, pretending she didn't notice, until his feelings forced him to be kinder. That was her hope anyway – House sometimes cracked under emotional pressure.

"So is the little gremlin sleeping?"

"Like a rock, since about eight. She was shaking all afternoon. I think she finally crashed."

She heard him draw in a breath, and then his chips crinkled again. "Have my team run a blood test and an EKG tomorrow. Except Foreman, he's banished to the lab."

"It's not his fault."

"Did you ever notice most of her attacks are triggered by men?"

"She ran away from a female nurse earlier."

"Do a test for me. See if she's afraid of Chase. And any other male you can find. And then test the women. If I'm right, we may-"

"No."

"What?"

"No. I'm not scaring the hell out of her. If you have a theory, run with it, but don't involve Madeline. She's _five_. She can't handle that much stress."

"Fine, but I'm doing the test when I get back." He paused. She heard a television in the background. "Can you believe this hotel doesn't have cable? They have _one_ Lion King DVD."

"Goodnight, House."

"You're not gonna ask when I'm coming back? Yell at me for missing clinic hours? Assign me to vomit patrol in the bathroom?"

"I'll call you and yell at you in the morning. Right now I'm tired. I spent all day dealing with a terrified five-year-old."

"And you get to do it all again tomorrow. Parenthood is great, isn't it?"

"Says the deadbeat dad."

He laughed quietly, crinkling his bag again. She heard him munching.

"You care about her, don't you?"

"Who, Angelina Jolie? You bet your ass I do."

She bit her lip. He knew exactly what she meant. He was deflecting. "Madeline. You care what happens to her."

She could practically see him shrugging. His voice was full of forced nonchalance. "She's a puzzle; I'm taking an interest. It's no different than any other case I've worked."

"House, you went to the other side of the country. A phone call would've sufficed, but you went anyway."

"I needed time away from the whining."

She was angry with him, even though she'd expected this type of response. "It's okay to care."

"Is the lecture over now? I have porn to watch."

She sighed. "It's not a lecture, it's just… advice."

"I'll take notes next time. Night."

"Goodnight."

XxX

"So you actually remember her? Madeline Smith?"

"I would hope so – she was in my class up till about a month ago."

House sat on one of the teeny pre-K desks, doing his best to stare at this woman's face, instead of her graciously exposed melons. Good thing she taught five-year-olds instead of fifteen-year-olds. "Do you know why she left?"

"I assume it was her anxiety," the teacher said, going over to her desk and shuffling through some papers. She pulled out a drawing and brought it to House. "She used to give me drawings at the end of the day. Her parents said it showed she was doing well, because drawing was her 'safe activity,' but that stopped a few weeks before she left. This is the last one she gave me."

He ran his finger over the colorful surface. Crayon. She'd drawn a river cutting through a forest. The trees were all the same generic shape, their size unchanging to deal with perspective and distance, but it was surprisingly well-organized. It looked more like an eight-year-old's drawing. She'd used multiple shades to color each object, giving the water depth, making the cloud-ridden sky look far away. It was fridge-worthy work.

"She was good," he commented, folding the paper up and putting it in his pocket. He ignored the hesitant look on the teacher's face. "I'm keeping it for medical purposes. Did she ever fight with the other kids? Bite anybody? Run away in terror?"

"Uh, no. Her interactions with the others were… limited." She pointed out the desk closest to her own, one separated from the other children's desks. "She liked to be by herself. She begged me to move her away from everyone, but she seemed to… be afraid of a group of kids specifically. One day it was Amber and Sara, and the next day it was Ryan and Beatrice. She never ran away, she just… cried, if they got near her."

"You didn't think that was worth mentioning to her parents?"

"I did," she responded, a little miffed. "They said it was normal, she was just adjusting. I knew that was nonsense. I've been a teacher for ten years now – I've seen enough to know that Maddie wasn't normal."

"Did she get worse in those last few weeks?"

"Not that I remember."

"Are you a C-cup or a D-cup?"

She flushed. "Excuse me?"

"Sorry, I meant to ask if you knew where they lived." He'd been by their rented property, but it had been occupied by a new tenant for over two years. So far he'd been unable to find their most recent abode.

"Uh, downtown, near the fairgrounds. Baker Street, I think. I dropped Maddie off once after a field trip, when no one showed up to get her."

"You moron." He held a hand up, preventing her from objecting. "She was nervous in class, scared of other kids, and her parents spontaneously decided to _leave her at school_, and you didn't call social services? What did you learn in college, how to perfectly present your _rack_ in a button-up shirt? I'm sure you passed with flying colors."

She crossed her arms self-consciously over her chest, her brow furrowed. "Mrs. Smith came to every open house. I had no reason to believe Madeline was being abused. She seemed to love her mother, and she spoke highly of her father."

He rubbed his forehead. "What house was it?"

"358. I remember because I couldn't find it and we had to-"

"Yeah, yeah, I don't care." He headed for the door, repeating the address again in his mind to make sure he had it right. He heard the teacher following him. After just a moment's consideration, he turned around. "You married?"

She shook her head, surprised.

"Do you, uh, wanna have dinner tonight?"

"You just insulted me, repeatedly."

"So that's a no?"

She said nothing.

"Eight O'clock, that seafood place just outside of town."

"Um, okay."

"It's a date."

XxX

House stepped into an empty hallway. He could hear a television running in one of the other rooms, the sound that had drawn him inside in the first place, but he didn't go straight for it. The air was thick with the coppery scent of blood. It was the right address – 358 Baker Street. It was the right time of day for two runaway parents to be home. It was the right moment to bust them both for abandonment and tell them how ridiculously stupid they were.

But it wasn't right. None of it was.

He stepped toward the bathroom, the first door on the right, and froze in the doorway. His eyes hit the father first – he was lying on the ground, his expression one of shock, his eyes glazed a milky blue. He'd been dead for at least twelve hours. House had only seen him once – that night he'd come to pick up Maddie from the hospital – and yet he felt this strange grief when confronted with his death. Perhaps he was upset for Maddie's sake.

He saw the mother next. She was beside the tub, sobbing, staring at him. Her face was red, her eyelids puffy, her fingers trembling around a bloody knife. She'd been sitting there all day. Her lower legs had lost their color because she'd been squashing them for hours. She didn't seem to notice. Her arm had several false starts on it – knife cuts, not deep enough to kill, but deep enough to hurt. As he'd come in, she'd placed the knife at the base of her wrist, prepared to drag it straight up her arm to her elbow. She would sever every major vein.

He put his hand up, shaking his head. "Don't."

She gasped out a cry, tears pouring down her face. "I should have stopped her." She looked at her husband, and then back at House. "She's _punishing_ me. I was never supposed to have kids… Maddie… Maddie was my punishment. I can't take it."

"You're suffering a psychotic break," he reasoned, his eyes scanning the room. There was no way to prevent what was about to happen, but still he tried. "Whatever you're feeling, whatever you _think_ is happening, it's not _real_. Just listen to me. Listen to my voice."

"I can't," she sobbed. Ribbons of blood began rolling down her arm. She was pressing the knife into her flesh. "Maddie… was my punishment."

"Maddie's fine, she's _fine_. She's alive, she's _happy_."

"She's broken!" the woman snapped.

House could've said something – anything – but it wouldn't come out of his mouth. He felt the words balling up in his throat. She dragged the knife down her arm, turning the ribbons into a river. Before she got all the way to her elbow, she dropped her weapon and began to convulse on the floor. He hit his knees and tried to hold her still.

He grabbed a towel from the rack, mindlessly covering the wound, squeezing, trying to hold the blood in. He had more than twenty years of experience telling him that she was long dead, but still he tried to save her.

She stopped moving only thirty seconds after the cut was made. Hot blood covered his clothing, soaked into his jeans, and dripped down his face. It was the spray of clenched veins, the spray of a sudden seizure to accompany a violent suicide. He fell backwards into the wall, gasping for air apart from the thick copper taste of death. He stared at the corpses, one fresh, one half a day old, and thought about the kid he'd left in Jersey.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, smearing it with blood as he dialed. He stayed where he was until he heard the sirens outside. Three paramedics rushed in, checking the corpses, checking House's vital signs. He was helped to his feet, taken out to the ambulance as the police arrived. He was questioned. His clothes were taken. He got a ride back to the police station, a cold shower, and a clean set of clothes. He gave a statement, provided Cuddy's number at the hospital, and waited a few minutes for her to pick up. When she backed his story, they let him go.

Officer Black drove him back to his car and offered him the number of a grief counselor. He turned it down and drove back to his hotel. The phone was ringing off the hook. Probably Cuddy. He didn't answer. He packed his things, checked out, and headed to the airport.

He was done with California.


	7. Coping

She found him on his couch. Even from across the room she could see the red tint on his face, the blood drying under his fingernails. He held his hands out like he was going to do surgery, staring at them. When she closed the door he looked up, his eyes strained with thought. She went into his kitchen and wetted a washcloth, which she used to wipe the remnants of her friend's blood from his nails. He allowed the contact, staring past her to the muted television. She reached for his right hand, which had been clenched around his cane. He released it. It bounced on the floor, making her flinch. She moved from the coffee table to the seat beside him, placing his open hand on her knee and running the cloth over his thumb. He was trembling. She swallowed hard, pushing her own grief to the back of her mind. House's connection with Madeline had been unexpected, but powerful, and it was _good_ for him, but now he was facing the deaths of her parents – Jenny had died right in front of him, and he'd obviously tried to save her. Cuddy had never seen such raw pain on his face.

"House…" she murmured. He jumped, as if awakening from a dream. He drew his hands back to him, gazing at them. His brow furrowed. His pain was palpable, and all she wanted to do was make it go away. She wanted him to play that stupid video game, or draw things on the wall with a laser pointer, anything that brought his childishness back. But it had been drained from him. He looked years older, and sadder. She'd always known about his misery, how poorly he connected, how much he struggled with his pain and his addiction, but now it was too real. It wasn't hidden, it wasn't woven in sarcasm. It was right there in front of her, and she wanted it to stop.

"I have morphine in my bag," she said, touching his knee. "Do you need…?"

He sighed, leaning back against the couch. His eyes settled on the ceiling. "It's not my _leg_."

"Then tell me how to help you." She couldn't let his emotions carry him away. She had to keep him here, in the real world, the only place she could touch him.

He thrummed his fingers against the armrest. "If I'd spent more time diagnosing the kid, her parents would've lived."

"You can't blame yourself for this. It's not your fault. Some people can't deal with having a sick child. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

He shut down immediately. Every emotion that had been displayed like a raw nerve on his face retreated, giving way to a bravado. His eyes became cold, as did his voice. "Why are you here?"

She blinked. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"_Why_?"

"Because I care about you."

"You care about me, or you care about what I might _do_? You feel guilty, so you want to tie up all your lose ends." He was attacking her. He'd actually managed to go from self-blame to anger in that short time.

She stood up, taking a few steps away from him to avoid hitting him. Of all the things he could've said at that moment, calling her selfish hit her the hardest. He was blaming Jenny's suicide on her, though she'd been on the other side of the country when it had happened. He was using her weakness, her attachment to Maddie and her adoptive mother, to lash out.

"I'm not here because I'm guilty," she said, almost whispering.

He sat up, enraged. "Then _why_ are you here? Why are you in my apartment? Why can't you just let me bleed without trying to make it all better?"

"Because I want to help you, you jackass," she growled, heading for the door. Fine, let him wallow. Let him drown himself in Vicodin and morphine. Let him kill himself, or someone else. She fiddled with the door, her eyes clouding with tears. How could she let herself care about such a bitter, hollow man? She knew he would lash out, she knew he would target her. It was like she'd set up her own destruction, and this was the moment. She would implode, he would _explode_, and Jenny would still be dead. Nothing accomplished. Nothing changed.

But, somehow, it didn't happen that way.

She heard him limp over, ignoring his cane and favoring the wall. He put his hand against the door, hanging his head so it was near her shoulder. She stood, tensed, sensing his chest inches behind her shoulder. This was it. This was the moment. The light she'd seen in him could burn bright, or simmer out forever.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. His voice was thick with reluctance, but he was fighting through it. "You have nothing to be guilty about. And… she probably would've killed herself either way."

She twisted a little, meeting his eyes. He was closer than she'd expected. Her voice came out as a soft whine. "Then why are you trying to hurt me?" Those words came out pathetic. Vulnerable.

House's eyes softened and his hand dropped from the door. He touched her shoulder, releasing a breath, making a decision, and then he cupped her face. She'd never imagined his hand being so warm, but then again, she must've been freezing. It was winter, and she didn't have her coat. He went from one hand to two, holding her face, staring at her, looking as if he wanted to say something, but couldn't. His eyes flickered back and forth, analyzing, considering.

Finally, he said, "I would never hurt you."

She blinked the glass from her eyes, forcing herself to stay strong. She had to remind herself of the things she'd felt moments ago, how much his words had stung, how childishly he attacked her. But it was hard with him staring at her like that. For once he seemed entirely honest, and vulnerable. Open, like a gaping wound. He'd handed her the salt, and she could either pour it in, or help stitch him up.

God, his eyes were blue. Staring into them was disorienting. She felt like an emotional teenager, completely incapable of logical thought, swimming in emotion. "I…" she whispered, her words getting caught in her throat. "House…"

The dam broke. Cuddy reached for his face, her palms covering his unkempt beard, and his hands slid to her shoulders. Her eyes slid shut as he kissed her. It was forceful and urgent, flesh pressing against flesh. His scent came over her, warm and musky, familiar and enticing. When she parted her lips to breath he ran his tongue across them, lighting up the stunned nerves in her face. Her belly coiled and her hands moved to the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.

Suddenly his hands were undoing her buttons, trying to force her shirt from her shoulders. She pulled away, but instead of giving her a break he began kissing her neck, his hot breath rolling down the front of her shirt. She shivered, her hands capturing the back of his head as his kisses slid between her breasts. Finally her shirt came apart.

She felt exposed, but jealously guarded. House glanced up, his eyes lit with lust, and then he kissed her stomach. A shock ran up her spine, making her knees weak. He kissed down her belly, his hands squeezing her hips.

She was breathless as she stepped from her clothes, willingly exposing herself to _House_, of all people. He stood straight, capturing her eyes again. She swallowed hard, leaning in for another kiss. He obliged while she ran her hands up his back, under his shirt. She pulled his shirt up and off. Their eye contact barely broke. If she hadn't been so turned on, she would've called it off right there – he was looking at her with something much stronger than lust. The prospect of being loved by him made her mind race, but her blood was racing much faster, demanding some sort of relief.

They drifted toward the couch. She laid down and, within seconds, he was kissing her neck again. She laughed, provoking a smile against her skin. She wiggled, moving her legs up on either side of his pelvis.

"Should I make a sex joke?" he asked, breathless.

She smiled. "Shut up, House."

XxX

Cuddy lay pressed against House's side, her body humming with warmth. His hand ran up and down her spine, his fingertips dancing down her ribs and over her hip, and then back again. He was looking up at the ceiling, unable to wipe that dopey look of wonder from his face. She kept her eyes on his stomach, where she toyed absently with the fingers of his right hand. He pulled air into his stomach, forcing it to balloon, and whispered, "I think I'm pregnant."

She felt a jab of adrenaline – they didn't use protection – but it faded as he released the breath. She couldn't work up her usual worry. After all, she was lying, naked, on House's couch. She was too self-conscious to let her mind go anywhere else. She wondered where his eyes were, what he thought of what he saw, and how long it would be before he bragged to Wilson. What would he say about it? What was he thinking?

"Give me five more minutes before you freak out," he requested, nuzzling his face against her hair.

He breathed in, she breathed out.

"I'm not panicking."

"Yes you are."

She pulled herself up, rolling her eyes when his gaze went straight to her breasts. She tilted his chin up with her fingers. "I'm up here, House. And I'm not freaking out."

Before he could respond, there was a knock at the door. Cuddy's heart went into overdrive. She leapt up and scrambled to find her clothes, gasping indignantly when House took that opportunity to slap her butt. She was halfway done buttoning her shirt when she heard him groan.

"It's Wilson," he announced.

She pulled on her pants, flattening her hair with both hands. "Does he have Maddie?"

"Affirmative."

"He can't know what just happened," she hissed.

"Relax. I was in the shower." He winked at her as he went into the bathroom.

Cuddy made sure everything was straight before she opened the door. Maddie came in immediately, checking the room for House and then hugging Cuddy around the waist. She was grinning uncontrollably. Wilson walked in more slowly, apprehensive of the tragedy that had brought them together in the first place. He smiled sympathetically at Cuddy, touched her shoulder, and then went to sit on the couch. She cringed. He was sitting right where they'd… oh, well, he probably wouldn't notice. House would, though, and he would find it absolutely hilarious.

She sat with Maddie on the chair, rubbing her shoulders. "Did you have fun at the park?"

Wilson laid his head back and moaned. "We raced. _Over_ and _over_ again."

"I kept beating him," Maddie said proudly.

"She tripped me. Repeatedly."

In the bathroom, the shower cut on and House started singing show tunes. Cuddy yelled, "Stop teaching her to do bad things!" He stopped singing for a moment, and then continued, this time louder. Maddie smiled at her.

Wilson glanced toward the bathroom. "How's he doing?"

Her buzz faded, bringin back the reality of the present. Jenny was dead, House had seen it happen, and Maddie still didn't know. And then there was the fact that she'd just had sex with House right where Wilson was sitting, and she didn't know how to explain it to herself. She let her voice drop so House wouldn't hear them, responding in a soft whisper that in no way conveyed the seriousness of their situation. "He's… dealing with it. I've never seen him like this."

"He doesn't know how to cope."

"Cope with what?" Maddie asked.

"Nothing, sweetie." She motioned to the window. "Why don't you go look at the birds?" With the little girl out of her lap, she could say more. "He looked… defeated. And he was being mean – he's never just _mean_."

"He sounds fine to me," Wilson noted, pausing for a moment to listen to his friend crow in the shower. "What did you say to him?"

"Nothing."

"Um, okay. I'll keep an eye on him tonight."

Cuddy stood and crouched in front of Maddie. "You're staying with me tonight, okay?"

"But House is back! Right? He's back, right? I can hear him singing."

"Yeah, he's back, but he's tired. He needs to rest for a while. You'll see him in the morning, I promise." She ushered her toward the door, looking back at Wilson. "Make sure he's okay."

"Take care of yourself, too."

_That's a little bit harder_, Cuddy thought as she pulled the door shut behind her. She would take Maddie home, feed her dinner, and then tell her that both of her parents were dead. She would explain that she would never see her mom and dad again. House would say to leave her in the dark until he'd figured out how to fix her, but she couldn't be that cruel. It was Maddie's right to know. Still, she dreaded it. She would hold a crying child all night, wishing she could fix it, wishing she could do anything to make the pain go away.

Wilson had it easy. House would suppress everything he felt, drink a few beers, take some pills, and then pass out for the night. She almost wished their roles were switched.


	8. Murderer

"You can talk to me about it, you know."

"I heard you the first time. And the second time. Hand me a beer."

Wilson rolled his eyes, pulling another beer out of the case and tossing it to House. He was so drunk that he barely caught it. As he fell back onto the couch beside his friend, Wilson took the remote from him and muted the TV. "House, I'm serious. You can't keep this bottled up."

"Keep what bottled up? I see people die all the time." He reached aimlessly in Wilson's direction, as if trying to grab the remote. His clouded mind couldn't find it.

"She sliced her arm open right in front of you. You can't tell me that doesn't bother you."

He downed half his beer in one swallow, and then murmured, "It doesn't bother me. Turn the volume back on. This is my favorite part."

"It's a documentary about bird migration."

"Yeah, this is the part where the baby bird falls out of the nest, and then the mom comes down and carries it back up. Makes me tear up every time."

Wilson turned the sound on, but lowered it. "Aren't you curious about that call I got a few minutes ago? Usually you're all over me for the details."

He shrugged. "Figured somebody was dying."

"It was Cuddy. She got a call from the Cherry Grove P.D.; Madeline's status as ward of the state has become indefinite."

"I'm too drunk to figure out what you just said."

"She'll be in foster care and group homes until she's eighteen, unless someone adopts her or she gets emancipated – which will be at sixteen, considering how smart she is. Once you figure out what's wrong with her… that's it."

House reached around him, grabbing another beer. He stared at the label. Wilson could tell he was in deep thought. His brow drew downward and his eyes narrowed. His hand clenched around the bottle. He spoke quietly, his voice barely rising above the sound of migrating birds. "I could've stopped her."

Wilson blinked, both grateful and stunned. House was not the type for sharing, no matter how much he was badgered. "She had a knife. You couldn't-"

"I _could_ _have_," he cut in, looking Wilson in the eye. His expression had shifted from deep thought to anger. His mind was liquored up and it was time to let his insides spill out. "I was standing in the doorway, staring at her. I could've reached out and stopped her. I just watched her saw her arm open! I didn't even try to _stop her_!"

"There was nothing you could've done," Wilson repeated, putting his hand on House's shoulder. It was shrugged off. He clenched his jaw. "She was suicidal before you were in the _state_, before she brought Madeline to New Jersey! Cuddy said the officers found empty liquor bottles and antidepressants all over the house! She had cuts on her thighs – she kept her kid in a room with no windows with a door that locked from the outside!"

"It doesn't matter," House persisted, standing up. He limped backwards, almost falling. Wilson stood to help him balance, but he pushed him away, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter who she was. I'm a doctor! I'm supposed to help people, not watch them die! I was pissed off so I let her do it!"

Shocked, Wilson froze in place. He stared at his friend, unable to form a response. House lowered his voice so it took on a sinister edge. "That's right. You euthanize dying cancer patients and I let a sick woman kill herself."

"She killed her husband."

"There was something wrong with her – maybe it could've been fixed."

"You don't care about her. Why are you blaming this on yourself? You never even met the woman. You only met her husband one time. The only one you care about is… Madeline. You're upset because you think you let her mother die."

Finally House lost his steam. He sat on the couch, running both hands roughly through his hair. He let out a long breath, fiddling with his unopened beer bottle. "Congratulations. You got something right for a change."

Wilson sat beside him, shaking his head. "No, no, you didn't let anyone die. You didn't kill anyone. She was sick – like you said – and it was going to happen no matter what you did. She must've suffered some kind of psychotic break after she left Maddie here."

"Her timing is impeccable."

"You said her husband was long-dead when you got there – maybe she only came back to reality when you came in."

"That's great, Wilson. You're really helping."

"It didn't matter who came through that door; you, the mailman, the police."

House groaned. "Just shut up and let me feel bad."

"Fine. But I'm not going anywhere."

"I'll take the couch tonight."

"It's your apartment – your bed."

"Trust me, you really don't want to sleep on this couch tonight."

"House, you're not sneaking out."

"That's not… you know what, you win. If you find a wet spot, just angle your face away from it. Oh, and if you find Cuddy's underwear, just leave it on the coffee table."

XxX

"Oh. My. God."

"He was emotional, I was… I was trying to comfort him."

"Oh. My. _God_."

"I told him not to tell you. I knew you would overreact."

"_Oh. My. God_."

"Say that one more time and you're fired," Cuddy snapped, glaring at the phone as if she could see Wilson gaping at her.

"Why… why? Why-Why-Why would you do that? You _know_ how he is!"

"I know. It's not like I planned it out. It just… happened."

"So you both tripped on a banana peel?"

"No, God, we just… sort of… kissed, and then it went from there. I told him not to tell you."

"The only secrets House can keep are his own." He paused for a moment. She heard a door open and close, and then the sounds of traffic. "You need to figure out what you're gonna say to him."

"'We had sex; it was nice, but it's not happening again.' Trust me, I've done this before."

"In college. You're both grown-ups now."

"I'm not sure he qualifies as a grown-up." She shifted to cover Maddie's shoulders with the blanket. She was breathing evenly, completely lost in a dream. "Other than gloating, how is he?"

Wilson's tone changed in a split second. "He's… blaming himself."

"Yeah, I got that too."

"Oh, so you did talk between the humping?"

"It's a better coping mechanism than drinking. At least he won't need a new liver afterwards."

"Touché, boss lady."

She smiled to herself. "It's not happening again."

"Listen, I'm sure you two would be great together – bickering, day and night – but unless that's what you want, don't lead him on. He can be… obsessive."

"Oh, ya think?"

"Yes. House falls hard, and I'm the one who has to pick him up afterwards."

"He would like that metaphor."

"Yeah… I've been staying over here way too long. Listen, I have to go. House is banging on the door with his cane."

"I thought you were outside."

"I am. He's banging from the inside. He's very, very drunk. He probably thinks he's locked out."

She laughed. "Take care of him."

"Have you told Maddie yet?"

"Yeah, a few hours ago. I don't think she understands – she didn't even cry."

"She probably considered them dead the moment they left her in Jersey."

She took a breath, and then murmured, "She deserves so much better than this. I-I don't know what to do. She's mine until House solves his puzzle, but… how am I supposed to let her go?"

Wilson was silent for almost a minute. She heard him go inside, where House was singing the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air theme song, and then she heard him coax his drunk friend to bed. As the bedroom door shut, he breathed into the phone. It was a soft sigh. "House is out for the night. Do you want me to come over? I've talked to a lot of kids about death."

"No, we're okay for now. Just go to sleep."

"Are you sure you're okay? You don't sound okay."

"I'm fine. Goodnight, Wilson."

"Night, Cuddy."

XxX

Cuddy lay awake on the couch, a two-day-old girl resting peacefully in her arms. Every now and then the baby stirred, making soft whining sounds as if she would start crying, but she sunk back into sleep without opening her eyes. Jenny was beside her, gazing at Madeline, playing with her tiny hand. The three of them were the only souls in the entire house.

"She's so beautiful," Jenny murmured, running the back of her index finger down Madeline's cheek. Her smile broadened when the baby cooed. "I can't believe you're letting me take her."

"I have a career – there's no room for a kid in it," Cuddy said. She'd rehearsed that line a hundred times, repeating it to her mother and her sister. They were convinced she would be infinitely happy with a daughter. She agreed, but fear held her back. If her job suffered, she would lose everything she'd worked for. Besides, Jenny would be a good mother. She was smart, compassionate, and energetic. She wanted the baby more than anything, and she deserved a chance at happiness.

She handed Madeline over without a second thought, smiling sadly, but feeling confident inside. Her eyes traced the teeny facial features she'd come to know over the last two days, the cry she'd dutifully responded to. She loved Madeline, but it wasn't meant to be.

XxX

Cuddy woke on her couch, the same couch she'd dreamt of. She looked around, startled, and realized she'd fallen asleep with her phone in her hand. She could still see Jenny's face as clear as day, but she knew the woman was dead. She knew the newborn she'd handed over had become the five-year-old whose head lay in her lap. She knew these things, but still a tear ran down her cheek. She could've raised Madeline, if only she'd been willing to take a chance. She could've protected her from Jenny's sickness, and maybe from her own.

It was time to suck it up and fix her own mistakes. No one was going to take this girl from her, not the state, not a friend, not a stranger. House was going to fix her, and Cuddy was going to adopt her. Whatever happened after that would be up to fate.

She stroked Madeline's hair back over her cheek, murmuring, "Maybe it was meant to be."


	9. Victim

Wilson sat alone in the MRI control room, occupying himself with the medical history House had given to him. He tried not to read into the scars and bruises found during her physical, focusing instead on the different types of medicine she'd been prescribed. She was only five, but he was sure she'd taken more drugs in her lifetime than he had. By the time House got back into the room and fired up the machine, Wilson was only on the second page of her medication history. His friend glanced at his progress, hummed in his throat, and then plopped down beside him, his eyes settling on the screen that showed cuts of Maddie's brain, one centimeter at a time.

"So what's your theory?" Wilson asked, shutting the folder and tossing it onto the table. When he received no answer, he narrowed his eyes. "Come on, you always have a theory, and no matter how outrageous it seems it always turns out to be right."

His eyes flickered but stayed on the screen. His voice was quiet, sad. "I don't want to be right."

Wilson sat up, his heart dropping. "What is it? Did something come up in the tests?"

"No, nothing. Nothing at all." He picked up the folder and handed it back to Wilson. "Page seven. She's been treated for depression, anxiety, and hyperactivity, all at separate times, all by separate idiots. She was _rebirthed_ eleven months ago. Her mom tried out attachment parenting two years ago. She's seen sixteen different psychiatrists, therapists, and neurologists."

Wilson started flipping pages. As her life went on, the tests and treatments became more and more controversial, endangering her life more often than bettering it. "This borders on child abuse," he murmured, his disgust for her deceased parents growing with every report.

"But it's not," House said, taking the folder back and bending it in his hands. "She never got caught _because_ she did this."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying there was nothing wrong with her, but her idiot mom was so convinced that there _had_ to be something that she made it real." He stopped the machine as it came to the final scan. Both of them sat there, transfixed by the monitor. "Wilson… am I hallucinating?"

"No… no, you're not."

Wilson got up and rushed into the room, followed by House, who cut the lights on as he passed them. Maddie slid herself out of the machine and sat up, perplexed. Wilson took her head in both hands, running his fingers along the back of her skull. "Don't worry, sweetie, I'm just checking something. Does that hurt?"

"No," she responded cheerily. She grinned at House. "Can we go now? Cameron said we can make faces at the boys if I get back in time."

House shook his head, not hearing her. "Check the mastoid."

Wilson moved his hands up and to the sides, prodding at her skull. He felt a strong ridge in the bone, undetected in the X-rays they'd taken. It took a lumpy MRI to tell them this kid had a vicious skull fracture. "It's definitely there. Right on the edge of the mastoid. Here." He directed House's hands to the spot and stepped back, his head buzzing. "How is it hiding so well?"

"What's wrong?" Madeline demanded, pulling away from House's hands. She narrowed her little eyes at them both, puffing out her lips. "I'm right here, you know."

"You have a skull fracture," House told her. "But it's hidden along the line where the parts of your skull fused." He glanced at Wilson. "No brain swelling, no ticks, no headaches. That's not right."

"Maybe it healed without complication," Wilson offered.

"No. It's not in her medical records. She would've been in agony when it happened. Her parents would've taken her to the hospital." He set Maddie on the floor, ushering her toward the door. "Run along now. It's grown-up time."

"You can't just let her wander around in the hospital!" Wilson objected.

"She does it all the time. Get out, squirt." He went into the control room and Wilson followed, suddenly aware that his friend had an idea. He always got antsy when he was onto something. House sat in his chair and opened the folder, staring at the medication list. "Wilson, sit."

Wilson obeyed, leaning curiously to see what page he was on.

"Here. Anti-anxiety medication – the reason for prescription is listed as 'extreme stress.' Six months ago. That must've been when the fracture occurred."

"Why give her anxiety medicine for a skull fracture? Who was the doctor?"

"Psychiatrist. Allen Mason… he's the guy Cuddy referred them to. Apparently he's the top of his field at NYU." He shuffled through the MRI results, stopping on the only image that showed the fracture. "An injury like this could only occur if her head was slammed into a flat surface. Someone as lightweight as Madeline couldn't fall and do this kind of damage, and if she'd fallen from a significant height, she would've broken some bones… Someone did this on purpose."

"You just jumped tracks entirely. We're on the psychiatrist. Why the hell would a psychiatrist give a kid with a skull fracture anxiety medication? Skull fractures don't make kids nervous, they're painful. Anyone with a medical degree would be able to tell the difference between pain and nerves. We have to call… wait, what? Are you saying someone… tried to kill her?"

"If they were trying to kill her, they would've done it again." House got up, closing the folder. "I think we should pay this psychiatrist a visit."

"We could just call."

"And he could just hang up. Come on, field trips are fun."

"Can we backtrack a second? Please?" Wilson stepped in front of the door, preventing House from leaving. He held up his hand, putting on his patient face. "If you really suspect that someone slammed her head into a hard floor _on purpose_, you're also insinuating this psychiatrist – Allen Mason – helped them cover it up. That's attempted _murder_, House. This is serious."

"I know," House chirped, completely unaffected by his concern. "This is getting good."

XxX

"So what was your theory about Madeline, anyway?"

"Keep your eye on the prize," House chastised, barely raising his head from the window. He'd been half-napping for hours, constantly awakened by strange nightmares. He'd let Wilson drone on about laws and bylaws for so long that his friend's voice became part of the background – until he brought up the kid again. House was tuned to react to her name. "I theorize that she has a skull fracture that was never reported, and a psychiatrist who's either an idiot, or helped her parents cover up the fact that they were abusing her."

"Before that. You said you hoped you weren't right. You said her mom wanted something to be wrong so bad that it became real. Did you have a particular _reality_ in mind?"

House released a heavy breath, glancing back at their sleeping passenger. Cuddy had refused to take her because of some big meeting she had to attend, but he'd neglected to mention that they were going to drive the girl to New York to confront the idiot who let her parents hurt her. If he'd brought it up, she might've reconsidered – he actually didn't want that to happen. He would never admit it, but he liked having her around. He liked keeping an eye on her, knowing that she was safe, and warm, and fed. It was like having a puppy smart enough to use the toilet instead of the rug. He'd put sedatives in her pudding, so she'd be out until they arrived.

"I consulted a friend in Georgia-"

"A _friend_?"

House looked over, amused. "Are you jealous? Think your monopoly on my couch isn't going to last forever? Relax. He's more of a… minion. He owes me big time for diagnosing his kid."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "So you're blackmailing him?"

"Blackmailing is such a strong word. I prefer… coercing. Anyway, he said something that reminded me of what Foreman said, so I tracked Foreman down and-"

"The theory, House."

"Reactive Attachment Disorder. It has two main branches, inhibited and uninhibited behaviors. She has both. Inhibited develops when a kid doesn't have enough bonding time with mommy and daddy, and uninhibited develops when a kid has way too much time with every member of the family. Inhibited is the fear, and uninhibited is the friendliness."

"She can't have too much and not enough attention at the same time."

"Oh contraire, but she can. She spent her whole life getting shipped between therapists and psychiatrists who are trained to act like she's the center of the world. Her parents were there, but her mom's nuts and her dad was probably a little on the insane side himself."

"You met the dad. Did he seem crazy?"

"Cuddy knew the mom. She had no idea she was coo coo for Co-Co Puffs."

"Fair point. But you're _you_. You love reading people."

"I was a little busy chasing the kid down. She ran when he tried to grab her."

Wilson shook his head as if something had struck him. House sat up, intrigued. His friend glanced over at him, perplexed. "She runs from people before they can get close enough to touch her. Why would she let her dad get so close?"

"She fought it later on – I watched her work through it."

"No, the reasoning comes later. First it's the terror," Wilson asserted.

House looked back at the kid, a chill going through him. His mind began working at top speed, processing everything he'd seen that night. "So we can assume that her reaction to her father wasn't part of her condition. That means she was just… afraid of him."

"Why would she be afraid of him? Think about it." Wilson was speaking in a loud whisper. "He was the one who fractured her skull!"

"That still doesn't explain why the psychiatrist gave her anxiety medicine."

"She definitely had something to be anxious about if her dad was abusing her."

"No history of bone breaks, no suspicious bruises, no red flags from other psychologists-"

"Maybe they missed something!"

House stared at him, fascinated with his insistence. He was worked up about this, running with the idea like it was the last chance they had. That was usually House's job. This case had become personal for Wilson, and no matter what the diagnosis was, it would impact him. House realized this, along with the fact that Madeline was waking up, in the same moment. "You missed the exit," he murmured, ticking his eyes toward the back seat.

Wilson looked back, releasing the breath he'd been holding. "Yeah. I'll… take the next one."

Maddie rubbed her eyes. "Where are we?"

"New York," House responded. He took the fast food bag from the floorboard and tossed it to her, handing her damp drink in his cup holder. "We stopped for dinner. Eat up."

While she dug through the bag, he spoke to Wilson. "I'll interview the idiot – you watch Maddie. Teach her how to panhandle."

"I want to come," Wilson stated, his eyes dark. He was enraged by the prospect of a doctor covering up child abuse. House had never seen him so reactive.

"Too bad. My case, my rules."

XxX

Cuddy tied a second knot in her robe as she crossed the living room. It was almost midnight, too late for business, too early for House to come and whine about one of his cases, and yet someone was banging on her door. She looked through the peephole. It was a man in a high-priced suit. He shuffled around outside, appearing nervous. She opened the door, keeping the chain on. He jumped, smiled, and held out his hand, then realized the door was only open a few inches. He rubbed his hair and stepped back. "Oh, sorry, I live down the street. I just had a fight with my wife and she kicked me out. May I use your phone? I don't have any way to… travel."

She blinked away sleep, nodding. "I'll get it." She pushed the door shut and went for the phone. She'd left it on the couch after arguing with House about taking Maddie to New York. It was still warm. Before she could pick it up, she heard a soft sound at the door.

It burst open, slamming into the wall and making a gaping hole. Cuddy gasped and wheeled, but it was too late. He was already in the house, pushing the door shut and locking it. She ran for the back door, dialing rapidly into the phone. Something struck her back before she could connect. His arm wrapped around her torso so tightly that it squeezed the air out of her. He lifted her and slammed her onto the couch. She kicked out, trying to get a grasp on anything but air. She managed to bite down on his forearm as he tried to silence her screams. His knee came up hard and dug into her gut, taking her voice away.

"Stay away from Mason," he hissed, pushing her head into the cushion. She struggled to breathe through the fabric. She felt his hands forcing her housecoat up, exposing her body to the cold air. She couldn't push him off. She couldn't even scream. She was helpless.

Within moments she felt a knife pierce her skin, drawing up and down her back. Her body convulsed with sharp pains. Tears formed in her eyes. She heard blood dripping onto the floor. It was hot as it rolled into the small of her back.

When the cutting finally stopped, her attacker paused, giving her enough time to attempt an escape. She struggled against him, throwing him off balance for a split second. She managed to slip from under his knees and roll onto the floor. He was on her immediately, pinning her down, mashing her face into the carpet. "Better be glad I'm not into old ladies," he growled.

And then she felt the blade slid into her chest, splitting the skin, tearing the muscle, making her dizzy as pain took over. Black dots erupted in her vision. She felt nauseous and drowsy all of the sudden. She felt her attacker drift away, the weight of him vanishing. She moved her hand – she could see it as a blurry lump inches from her face, but she couldn't make it do what she wanted. It just flopped around.

The pain was replaced with warmth. She knew it was bad, but she couldn't help being relieved. Her thoughts spiraled into one single question, which repeated until she was unconscious.

_Am I dying?_


	10. Emergency

"Forty-three year old female suffering one stab wound to the upper abdomen; massive internal bleeding." The radio buzzed with a garbled response, and then the paramedic appeared over her again. She could barely see his face through the blaring light of her living room. "Can you hear me? Reg, she's in shock. Get that stretcher in here!"

She tried to speak, but she was too weak. She felt her blood draining away, leaving her body cold and empty; practically lifeless. The paramedic's hands were rough and each time he touched her she felt a jolt of pain, but she welcomed it. Pain kept her awake, it kept her thinking. How long had she been out? She didn't even remember the paramedics coming in. She couldn't tell if the window showed dawn, or her porch light. She listened intently to the men hovering over her, adding up the doses, double checking their evaluations. One stab wound and rivers of blood. The blade had nicked her artery. She was losing too much blood to stay conscious for more than five minutes. She would slip from shock into a coma, and then her heart would stop beating.

She was jolted awake. Light poured into the ambulance as she was yanked out of it. Doors opened and she was in a hallway, passing under a series of long fluorescent lights. Faces moved by her as blurs, hands checking her pulse, hooking up IVs, preparing blood transfusions.

She saw three familiar faces right before the ER doors closed. Cameron, Chase, and Foreman, House's team spending a long night caring for a patient. But House wasn't there. He would be at home in his bed, unaware of what was about to happen. Either the surgeon fixed her, or the wound was too severe and she bled out under the harsh lights of the operating room.

She wouldn't be conscious either way.

XxX

_**Four Hours Earlier**_

"Doctor Mason will be with you shortly," the secretary said, smiling at House as she picked up her phone. She continued her conversation with who he suspected was her hair stylist. "I told Jimmy to grab his wallet before we left, and guess what he does. Yeah. Uh huh. He did."

House rolled his eyes and took a seat nearby, doing his best to ignore the baby in the carrier across from him that wouldn't stop staring. He took an interest in the office's patients, who ranged from early teens to toddlers. He saw over fifty children coming and going while he waited, populating the couches of ten child psychiatrists who shared the practice. He'd done his research before showing up here, finding that the building was shared by four early childhood trauma specialists, two behavioral specialists, one autism specialist, two late childhood trauma specialists, and one childhood mental illness specialist. The last one was Allen Mason, a graduate at NYU who spent half of his time teaching advanced abnormal psychology, and the other half here, where he made millions of dollars diagnosing and treating mentally ill children. He was like the Greg House of psychology, the one people came to when they had no other options.

While he waited, House counted three med checks, one therapy session, and two consultations going into Mason's office; the patients were all young girls, typically under ten. It would be easy to pretend little girls had more problems than little boys, but House had a tendency to see the worst in people, no matter how well they hid it. Mason may have been warm and fluffy on the outside, but Madeline was living proof that he had at least one skeleton in his closet. He was too smart to have made a mistake. There was only one option left.

Several hours after he'd sat down, Mason beckoned him into the office, smiling in a friendly way. He was about five feet tall – hysterically short compared to House – with a bald spot shining up the top of his head. He looked harmless enough; soft-handed, fleshy instead of muscly, no visible scars, tattoos, or afflictions. House shook his hand and limped into his office, glancing around before he took one of the plush seats near the black oak desk. Every book was leather-bound, a fridge occupied the corner, and the window had bars on it. He was rich and spoiled, with expensive tastes and enough money to live out his every whim, but he was working in a place that bred caution, even in the upper class. House already didn't like him.

"What was it you needed to see me about, Doctor House?" he asked, sitting down at his desk and putting his glasses on. He scanned over some papers, losing the welcoming demeanor he used on his patients. "I only have a few minutes before my next appointment."

House pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his back pocket, tossing it to the psychiatrist. As the man unfolded it, he sat back in his chair and folded his arms. "Five-year-old girl presents with severe headaches, dizziness, and a lump on the back of her head. Why prescribe anxiety meds?"

Mason glanced up, narrowing his eyes, and then read over the paper. "This is the medication history for one… Madeline Smith. Yes, I remember her. She was my patient. I prescribed her anxiety medication because she was anxious all the time. She always thought someone was out to get her." He handed the paper back, as if dusting his hands of it.

"She came to see you six months ago with the symptoms of a severe head injury. Why didn't you report it in her file? Or send her to the hospital, where she could get treatment?"

"Do you make a habit out of trusting everything disturbed little girls say, Doctor House?"

His temper flared. "I found it on an MRI, you moron. It's not rocket science. You age bone breaks by how well they heal – hers was six months old. She came to your office with a fractured skull and you gave her more anxiety pills. Or was that just for the paperwork?"

"Are you insinuating-?"

"Any way that you could've possibly ended that sentence, the answer is yes. If you gave a damn about that little girl, you would've noticed how her parents-"

"I resent the implication that I would, under any circumstances, fail to report-"

"I resent the implication that I give a damn what you resent. You saw the kid every day for months, and you claim to have no idea her _parents_ were the source of the problem – she was being abused at home, probably came in with bruises and fat lips all the time, but you were just so fascinated with the case that you couldn't give her over to the state."

Mason said nothing. He looked down at his papers, flustered. House noticed a cheap folder on his desk, and a ramen noodle wrapper, and a crappy brand of cigarettes. His mind clung to those things, jumping from one idea to the next.

Finally it hit him. "New money," he murmured. He flicked the cigarette box with the tip of his finger, his eyes wide. "You're not rich… you're new money. That means someone paid you off. Someone paid you to keep your mouth shut."

The door opened behind him. "Is everything alright in here, Doctor Mason?" The secretary hung halfway in the doorframe.

House ignored her completely. "How much did it cost to look the other way?" he asked. "How much did it cost to stand by and watch them screw up their own kid?"

"I think it's time you left," Mason said, standing and motioning toward the door. He looked disturbed and distant. "Martha, can you make sure Doctor House gets to the elevator alright?"

"No need, _Martha_," House growled, brushing by her and stalking through the lobby. He had to get as far away from that idiot as he could before he broke a few knuckles on his face. Once he was in the elevator he drove his fist into the metal doors, sending a jolt of pain up his arm.

If the doctor was just a greedy idiot, then the cause of her condition had to be the parents. His original theory was right. She was suffering from something that couldn't be cured, only monitored. It was the end of the line.

XxX

"House, answer your phone!" Wilson called, lining up another domino. His finger slipped and the whole line went down, provoking a giggle from his competition. He reached for his friend's phone, which was ringing nonstop on the chair behind him. It was past midnight, too last for telemarketers and too early for House's team to finish the tests on his new patient, Kidney Guy. Apparently he had three of them. He read the caller idea, frowning, "House… who is _The Dark One_?"

"Foreman," House responded, limping out of the bathroom and taking the phone from him. He cancelled the call and laid back on the bed, tossing the phone into the corner. "Been calling all night. Must be something important."

"Then why don't you answer it?"

"I'm on vacation." He sat up and slid off the side of the bed, joining Wilson and Maddie on the floor. He started setting up his own dominos while trying to knock the little girl's over. She laughed and batted his hand away. "Besides, if they can't reach me, they call Cuddy. It's about time she did some real work."

Wilson smirked. "So we're taking the night off from medicine? That's a relief." He took his phone off of his belt, tossing it onto the bed. House turned his head slightly to watch it bounce around, giving Maddie enough time to knock over his dominos.

There was a knock at the door. "Room service. Go get it, squirt." House scooted closer as the girl dashed across the room, throwing the door open and greeting the room service guy. He lowered his voice and said, "We need a rape kit when we get back to Jersey."

Wilson nodded, swallowing hard. "Do you really think her dad-?"

"I don't know, but she didn't get this screwed up from therapy alone. There had to be trauma. It's the catalyst." He struggled to his feet, pulling the room service cart toward the bed. He slammed the door shut in the delivery guy's face. "Eat up, and enjoy it. Wilson paid good money for this steak. Thirty dollars an ounce."

"You have money too, you know," Wilson muttered.

"It's not as fun to spend mine."

Before he could take his first bite, Wilson's phone started ringing. He flipped it over, frowning when he saw Cameron's name. House's team only called him when they were desperate to get in contact with House. He answered, put the phone to his ear, and started cutting his steak. "You've reached the House Hotline, please state your emergency."

"Cuddy is in the hospital!"

He dropped his knife. "What? Why? What happened?" He looked up at House and Maddie, who were both staring at him expectantly. "Cuddy's in the hospital," he told them.

"The police said it looks like a home invasion," Cameron said, sounding panicked. He could hear panic in her voice. "She was stabbed. She's in surgery now, but the surgeon can't stop the bleeding. Where the hell is House?"

"Right here." He handed the phone over, every sound but his own breathing blocked out by his buzzing mind. Cuddy was in the hospital. Cuddy was going to die. How the hell had this happened? He grabbed Maddie's hand and led her to the door, both hands falling to her shoulders. He started gathering their things, his pulse thrumming in his throat.

He heard House speaking quietly to his team member, which was disturbing in itself. "What's the pressure? Right. Prep some more blood. Her sister and her mother – they should be in her chart. No. No. No. Once in college; broken arm. We'll be there in four hours. New York. It doesn't matter – we're coming back." He hung up and tossed Wilson the phone. His eyes were dark, his mouth pressed into a permanent frown. "Let's go."


	11. Cold

"I hope she's okay."

House looked up, pulling himself out of his thoughts for a brief moment. Wilson looked just as stressed, only more expressive. He was afraid his friend was going to die, and House… he didn't even know what he was afraid of. He only knew terror, perhaps the same kind Maddie felt whenever a stranger approached her. He was in a state of near-collapse, facing the reality of losing one of the only two people in the world that he _couldn't_ lose. It wasn't love, it wasn't compassion, it wasn't companionship – he just couldn't lose Cuddy or Wilson. It couldn't happen. If it did, his world would stop turning. But he would never admit that to either of them.

He looked coldly at his friend, one of the only people in the world who gave a crap about him, and offered no consolation. Wilson was only trying to make him feel better, but he didn't understand what was going on in House's head. House didn't even understand it.

"It doesn't matter," House said, three consecutive Vicodin keeping his voice steady. It was easier to hide behind a wall when he was high; everything seemed less serious.

Wilson glanced over, his hands tightening on the wheel. "She might die, House, and that's all you have to say? It doesn't matter? She's your _friend_." He was angry, but his grief overcame it. He looked back at the road, his eyes narrowed against oncoming headlights. "Why would someone try to hurt Cuddy, of all people? Why her? Why now?"

House took a deep breath and avoided those questions. The more he thought about Cuddy, the more he wanted to get out of the car and run the rest of the way to the hospital. The illogical side of his mind wanted control, but the logical side was necessary to help Maddie and diagnose his three-kidney patient back at the hospital. Cuddy wasn't his problem. She wasn't his concern. But he _was_ concerned. Wilson kept bringing it up, thinking out loud, worrying about something he couldn't do anything about, and it made House do the same.

"Could you just give me a minute to think?" House snapped, silencing Wilson. He stared out the window, rubbing his forehead as his eyes traced the tree-line. Dawn was closing in. They would be at the hospital soon. The more he anticipated it, the more he wanted to go back to his apartment instead. He didn't want to know what was happening. He couldn't handle it.

Wilson drove in silence for a while, but when Maddie awakened he struggled to explain what was happening. "Someone… hurt Cuddy, back at her house, and we're going to the hospital to make sure she's okay. You don't have to worry. There are a lot of doctors there taking care of her."

"What if she's not okay?"

House swallowed, keeping his eyes on the trees. He'd been thinking the same thing. Her question made him contemplate a world without Cuddy in it, but piles of logic and reasoning couldn't blot her out of his life. She was a part of him, like Wilson, like the hospital, like Vicodin, and he was just like a child when it came to letting her go. He rejected the idea altogether.

"I don't know, sweetie," Wilson responded softly. He was almost as bad as House was at losing people close to him. He had the misfortune of loving everyone to some degree, and a loss of any kind was like a bullet to his chest. House pitied him for that, but it was what made Wilson a better person than him. He could love others without thought, whereas it took House twenty-five years to give a crap about Cuddy's life. Compared to Wilson, he was soulless.

He took his own comparisons to heart and made himself angry. What good was love, anyway, if it only let you fall so it could step on you and scrape you off on the sidewalk? Wilson was an idiot for letting everything get to him so easily. It was just Cuddy. Someone would replace her if she was killed. Everything would go on like she'd never been there.

"Take me back to my apartment."

Wilson stared at him, tapping the breaks. "What? But Cuddy-"

"I'm sure she's peachy. I, on the other hand, need a nap if I'm gonna figure out how Kidney Guy got his third kidney. You can keep the kid. She's all whiney."

His friend's surprise became disgust, something House hated to see on his face. It was like watching his father scowl at him, only more effective because he actually gave a damn about Wilson. "You can't get away from this, House. I saw you back at the hotel. You care about her – you _slept_ with her, for God's sake! You can't pretend this away!"

"If I cared about every woman I slept with, I'd have a bigger address book," House responded bluntly. "_Take me_ to my apartment."

"You know what? I don't even care. Run away, if that's what you think the best solution is. If she died today, you would never forgive yourself. And don't even _pretend_ that you would – I know you, House, I know that you torture yourself when you're alone, I know you're lonely, and it makes you bitter, but you have a _chance_ now. Cuddy loves you; she loves you. There, I said it. She's in love with you, and you're gonna blow it because you can't handle that!"

"Why does it even matter, if she's dying?" House demanded, his voice so loud that it almost made him hoarse. "Why does it matter if I'm there to pronounce her death?"

"Because it just does!" Wilson yelled. "If you love someone, you stand by them. If I was in the hospital right now would you be there to make sure I was okay?"

House bit back his response, not wishing to upset his friend any further. He might drop him off on the side of the road. Instead he reached for his phone, which had been ringing since their argument began. Wilson looked back at the road, huffing out a breath, and Maddie played with her seatbelt in the back seat, pretending she didn't hear them screaming at each other.

"Hello?"

"House? It's Chase. Cuddy's out of surgery. Barth was able to close the nick in the artery but she seized while they were closing. She's stable, but it'll take a little while to get the right amount of blood into her. She's in room 250, if you want-"

House hung up, dropping his phone in his lap. Everything he'd felt, the anger, the grief, the uncertainty, faded away, leaving him guilty for what he'd said and thought. He could be a real bastard when he was panicking. He looked over at Wilson, who was still steamed, and spoke in a placated voice. "That was Chase."

Wilson looked over, his eyebrows up. "News?"

"She'll be fine."

Wilson's smile was enough to tell him that their fight was forgiven. He was right, after all. House couldn't handle his feelings for Cuddy and the possibility of her death, but now that he knew she would be alright in a matter of hours, he could think clearly. The world wouldn't end. He would go see her, hold her hand, like she would if he was in a hospital bed, and torment her with talk about monster trucks. When she was mobile again, he would get a copy of the police report, find the guy who'd stabbed her, and beat his face into a brick wall. Then he'd figure out what the hell to do with Madeline and how to go about romancing his boss.

XxX

Half an hour later they were at the hospital. House went straight up to Cuddy's room while Wilson took the kid out for some food, promising to bring tacos for the whole team. He met Cameron, Chase, and Foreman at the door to Cuddy's room; they were milling about, glancing in sadly, and checking their watches, waiting for him.

"She's awake," Chase said as he approached. He was grinning like a little kid. "The blood's doing wonders now that the artery is mended. The police are in with her now, but we should be able to see her soon. Oh, this is for you," he held out a folder, presumably Kidney Guy's medical records. "He's also stable. We put him on broad spectrum antibiotics to wean out the infection in his third kidney, but it's reacting kind of… weird."

"Weird like turning him colors?" House wondered, peeping through the window. He couldn't see Cuddy, but he kept catching the eye of one of the hulking officers.

"No, like… storing urine."

House paused, his eyes narrowed. "Okay, that's weird. Drain it."

"Well, we are, but that's only a temporary solution. We need to-"

"Yeah, yeah, do that. Whatever you were gonna say. Scurry off." He sent them away, leaning up against the doorframe and trying to listen to what was being said inside. He could only hear the muffled humming of the bigger officer; his voice was far deeper than his partner's.

Finally the door opened and two officers walked out, tipping their hats to him as they left the building. He looked after them for a moment, readying himself, and then he stepped into the arch and got a look at her.

She was staring out the window, her unnaturally pale face dotted with bruises. Her hair was a mess, her eyes drooped, and the tips of her fingers trembled as they grasped a cup of water. Her bed was angled up so she could see the parking lot. She had three IVs, one for saline, one for blood, and one for morphine. Her arm looked small with three needles sticking out of it.

He cleared his throat, drawing her attention. She looked startled for a brief second, and then her lip trembled. It was a familiar response to trauma. He walked over and sat in the chair by the window, looking out before he met her eyes. She was ready to cry. He pressed his lips together and took her hand. "Don't give me that… sad puppy face."

She half-laughed, half-sobbed, her fingers wrapping around his. She was weak and cold. "I never thought something like that would happen to me."

"Well, wearing shirts like that…" he began, realizing mid-sentence that he didn't know the extent of what had happened. Had she been raped? He swallowed his words and got up, sitting on the side of her bed and looking down at their hands. "Yeah… me neither."

She popped his hand, smiling. "That's for taking Maddie to New York. Where is she?"

"With Wilson. Eating." He took his hand back, fiddling with the hem of her sheets. He didn't know what else to say so someone who'd almost died. Glad you're alive. Congratulations on the not dying. Hope it doesn't happen again.

Cuddy saved him from that. She took his hand back, running her thumb over his wrist and laying her head against the pillow. She stared outside. "The man who attacked me… he wanted me to stay away from Mason…" she looked up, testing his reaction. "Did you see Doctor Mason?"

"Yeah," he responded dryly. "Great doctor. Horrible person."

"I've heard at least three people describe you like that."

He laughed, surprising himself. Wasn't it supposed to be gloomy in here? "That's funny, because I've heard at least three people describe you with 'great boobs, horrible doctor.'"

She smiled, the tip of her thumb pausing on the bone of his wrist. "I'm glad you're here, House."

"I didn't have anything better to do. Besides, Wilson said if I ever want to get in your ridiculously tight pants again, I have to be supportive, you know? Tend to the wounded."

She smirked at him, squeezing his hand. Her cheeks became a shade darker. "Oh, so you think I'm having sex with you again? One time was enough."

"I would totally believe you if you weren't blushing."

"It's not happening."

"I'm willing to put down two hundred."

"I'm not betting with-"

"And forty extra hours of clinic duty."

She narrowed her eyes, and then shook his hand. "You're on mister."


	12. Grief

House sat at his desk, his eyes running up and down the MRI results. He kept blinking, hoping when he opened his eyes the anomaly he saw would go away, but the shadow remained. He didn't want it to be real. He'd rerun the test three times, hoping for new results, hoping for anything that made him wrong, that made him doubt the conclusion he'd reached hours ago. Nothing came. Medicine was meant to be his relief, his favorite puzzle, his purpose in life, but now the darkness was overwhelming him, and there was no cure, no vaccine. Nothing could prevent grief, the pain of having a young life snuffed out; especially one you'd come to value.

"Hey, someone dropped this off for you." Cameron appeared in the doorway, a thick envelope in her hands. She paused when she saw his face, biting her lip. "Sorry, I can come back later." She turned to leave, but stopped in the doorway. He heard her take a deep breath. "Are you okay?"

He shrugged, holding his hand out. "Come look at this MRI. Tell me what you see." She handed him the envelope, and while she scanned over the results, he turned it around in his hands. No return address – just his name scribbled across the front. "Patient is five years old, almost six, with no other physical abnormalities. Other than that whopping fracture on the MRI."

"I see… a shadow," she murmured, touching the spot near the base of the skull. She frowned at House. "This is her scan, isn't it? Madeline?"

House nodded, releasing a pent-up breath. "Did it three times."

"Did you test for cancer?"

"Negative. That leaves a benign growth, right there on her spine. The other MRI's were too high up. We couldn't see this area, right above the throat… technically not brain territory." He put his thumb through the edge of the envelope and began to tear it open. "We'll have to do surgery to find it and remove it."

"It may be inoperable – it's pretty close to the spine. Operating could paralyze her, or worse."

"I think it's causing her behavior problems, and if it is a growth, it's growing pretty damn fast. Wilson and I took MRI's on the same level a few days ago. No shadow."

She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Do you want me to book an OR…?"

That was the step he couldn't take on his own. He already knew, but at the same time he didn't want to know. He couldn't make himself pick up the phone and schedule an emergency surgery. It would confirm his fears, and put a timer above Maddie's head. He nodded hesitantly to Cameron, who touched his shoulder before she left the room. He waited until the door shut behind her to focus on the envelope. He could've sworn he felt… sand?

He tore it open, gasping and falling backwards out of his chair when powder filled the air. He scrambled for the phone, gagging as the stuff went down his throat. "Evacuate," he gasped into the phone, even before the front desk picked up. "Evacuate now, there's arsenic in the building."

He got up, stumbling toward the door and locking it. Seconds later the sirens in the hall started blaring and everyone who'd been milling around dashed for the doors. Nurses escorted the patients who could walk, and three brave interns swept back by House's office to clear out one of the worse-off patients. Less than a minute after he'd opened the envelope, the hospital was a ghost town, and he was its only resident.

His phone rang. He sat on the desk and answered, still coughing the stuff up. He was starting to get woozy, losing control of his muscles. His wrist twitched while he held the phone, making it smack him in the face. "Arsenic central, how may I help you?"

"House!" It was Cuddy. Great. "They said the call originated from your office. How the hell did you get _arsenic_ in your office? Is this some crazy treatment because I didn't approve-"

"It was in an envelope," he interrupted. "I breathed it in. Might want to get a hazmat team up here before I start seizing."

She paused. He heard panicked voices in the background. "The hospital has been evacuated. SWAT is on the way. They're treating this as a biological attack. You need to flush your lungs."

"Oh, gee, you're right, let me get my-" He had to stop as a wave of coughing took over him. The room spun and he hit the floor. Suddenly the carpet was right beside his face. He heard Cuddy's voice over the phone, but it was just a buzz in the background. "Wait…" he mumbled, his screwed up mind coming through with an idea. It shined like a light through the chaos. "You're… you were stabbed… why are you…?"

Everything went black.

XxX

"House? House!" He felt a pull on his shoulders, and then his bottle of Vicodin rattled. He tried to open his eyes, but he couldn't manage it. "He OD'd. Wilson get some help in here." He heard the door close, and then the light hit his eyes. He was on the floor. He'd been rolled over. He felt the source of the voice hovering over him, wiping his mouth with his shirt. "God, House, what the hell were you thinking? How many did you take? Is that _liquor_?"

He tried to say something. It came out garbled. Finally, he was able to pry his eyes open. Cuddy, and a blinding light. He closed them again, flexing his fingers. He was lying in vomit. His own vomit. He opened his eyes once more, meeting hers. She looked pissed, but worried, which was a good thing for his sake. "I… I didn't…" he mumbled.

She narrowed her eyes and shook her head. "Don't even try that. They're right there on the floor. Ten Vicodin. You could've died! Were you trying to kill yourself?"

His eyes slid shut. It was hard to keep them open. "No," he responded softly. He would've used a gun if that were the objective. He didn't remember swallowing anything, but he tasted alcohol and bile in his mouth. He'd dreamt up something that would be worse than the MRI results on his desk. Had she seen them yet? He forced his eyes open and glanced toward the desk, only able to see the corner. She would've rushed to his side, not to his desk. They were safe for the moment. She didn't need to know yet, not until he confirmed the problem.

Unexpectedly, she ran her hand down the side of his face. He looked at her, surprised, and found sadness in her face. "I saw the scan," she told him. "Is that why you did this?"

He hesitated, and then nodded. He couldn't say anything to get him out of this – he couldn't say anything at all in this state. Might as well face the music.

"It's gonna be okay," she whispered, stopping her hand on his cheek. She leaned down and kissed his forehead. He felt a tear drop onto his skin. She looked up suddenly. Help had entered the room. She scooted away from him, but he could hear her in the background dictating what the nurses did. "Get him charcoal and fluids."

He saw Wilson's face at the back of the crowd of doctors. He looked disappointed, again. House had to close his eyes to avoid that look. It wasn't good for him in this state. It was like another shot of liquor, or another Vicodin. Poisonous and eventually deadly. When he finally took too much, or pissed off the wrong biker, Wilson would be giving him that look at his own funeral.

XxX

He woke up with a kid on his chest, sleeping peacefully. His eyes drifted from the ceiling to the room's only chair, which was occupied by Cuddy. She'd decided to take a nap with chocolate pudding streaked across her face. When she felt him stir, Maddie held her head up, folding her arms on his chest and resting her chin there. Her face was close to his, so close he could see her pupils adjusting to the dim light.

"Did you try to kill yourself?" she whispered.

He shook his head.

"I saw you when they brought you out. It looked like you were dying."

"I miscounted," he murmured.

"No, you didn't." She reached out, touching a laceration on his cheek. He flinched. She withdrew her hand, frowning. "You fell out of your chair."

"I'm clumsy."

"It's okay if you wanted to die." She folded her arm back into place, resting her head sideways. He could no longer see her eyes, but his gaze landed on the back of her neck, where a tumor was slowly separating her spine from her brain.

Her words provoked sadness. He never imagined having this conversation with a five-year-old. "Why is it okay?" he asked quietly. "Everyone says it's selfish to want to kill yourself. After all, we have so much to offer the world."

"It's not about the world, it's about us," she said, looking at him again. Her eyes were glassy with tears. "My mom and dad are dead, and I'm scared all the time. There's nothing wrong with wanting that to go away. I just want to be better."

Earlier in the day, he would've said anything to make her feel better. He would've described how mediocre and mildly satisfying her life would be, how average her children would do, how they would have stars in their eyes when she told them stories about her own childhood. He would've told her exactly what was wrong, and how he could fix it. But they were past that. He'd sat at his desk and taken pill after pill, shot after shot, because he couldn't handle what was going to happen to her, as if a temporary respite would awaken some miracle solution. He was past the point of denying her death, and now he had to let it wash over him.

"Cuddy told you?" he wondered.

She nodded. Tears rolled down her cheeks. "She said they found a bump on my neck, but they can't take it out. I'm gonna die, right, House?"

"Right," he said, his voice hoarse. It had never been so hard to deliver that news. Her expression was unchanged. "I'm sorry, kid."

"But where did it come from?" she asked quietly, wiping her tears away with her fists. She was a tough kid, even in the face of her own mortality.

"A lot of places. Could be genetic, could've come from that fracture in your skull, could be all the medicine you've taken… There's no way to be sure until after… after you're gone."

"I don't wanna die." She moved further up his chest, pressing her face into his neck. He rubbed her back, leaning his face into her hair. Her little body was taken over by sobs. It was all he could do to keep himself together, to save face, even at a time like this. Inside, his heart was burning. His list of people he couldn't lose had grown from two to three, and now it would shrink again, leaving him clinging to two people to support his reality.

"It's okay, Maddie… I'm here. There's nothing to be afraid of… no one can hurt you now."

It would be tonight. He knew it would. He didn't calculate the growth rate of the tumor, or the way it would be jarred by the kid's sobbing. He didn't order up some suppressants, or an operating room to confirm its location. He knew in his gut that she was too far gone, from the fracture in her skull to the terror in her head. She was beyond his help now.

XxX

Morning came through open windows. House opened his eyes. He was immediately assaulted by a sense of dread. Maddie was still on his chest in the same position she'd been in the night before, only this time she was cold. She was just a corpse now.

Cuddy stood at the windows, holding a cup of coffee and looking outside. She had a soft smile on her face. When she saw House, she came over and touched his arm, whispering, "How are you feeling? I brought Maddie in to see you. She's scheduled for surgery in a few hours."

"It's too late," he responded, shaking his head.

Cuddy frowned. "What do you mean?"

He took her hand and placed it on the little girl's leg. She gasped and jumped away, her hands flying to her mouth, her eyes watering. "Oh my God… how… no… this can't…"

House sat up, shifting the girl into his arms. Her head lolled onto his shoulder. He gazed down at her for a few moments, listening to Cuddy sob beside him. He didn't look up when a crowd gathered in the doorway. He didn't stir when Cameron came and put her arms around his shoulders, trying to encourage him to let go of the body. He only moved when Cuddy sat on the bed in front of him, holding back sobs. She slid closer and kissed the girl's forehead, staring at her for a moment before she put her hand over House's.

"You have to let her go," she whispered, squeezing his fingers.

He nodded, handing her carefully to his team, who placed her on a gurney and wheeled her from the room. He felt empty now that he wasn't holding her. He felt like he'd lost something – a part of himself. But the room wasn't spinning. He wasn't crying. He'd accepted it and overcome it at his desk, when he was looking at that MRI. He played it all out in his head as the Vicodin went down his throat. She was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Cuddy, on the other hand, was falling apart. She'd watched the gurney leave, probably intending to follow it, but she'd been weak as she stood, and she had to sit back down. She had her hand over her mouth as she sobbed. Make-up ran down her face. Each time she came close to stopping, it started up all over again.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her closer, until she was in the gap between his legs. He wrapped both arms around her and pressed her head to his chest, where she could cry without the onlookers seeing. He waved them off with one hand, indicating that a nurse in the hall should close the door. Cuddy held onto him like the world was ending, like someone was beside them trying to pry her away. She was trembling violently.

Several minutes later, Cuddy pulled away, shaking her head. "House… we could've saved her… I should've… I should've… I should've…"

He held her face, stopping her stuttering. She held onto his hands, muffling another sob. "Shut up," he snapped, leading to a temporary break in her labored breathing. "There's no way you're blaming this on yourself. It's not your fault – it's not anyone's fault. She didn't have something we could _fix_. She would've spent her whole life alone, or on drugs, and she never would've been happy. We gave her a week of happiness. That's all we could do."

She closed her eyes, struggling to control her breathing. "I loved her," she whispered.

He pulled her head back into his chest so she couldn't see the tear rolling down his face. "Yeah… me too."


	13. Children

It had been four weeks. He kept repeating it in his mind. Four weeks since the last night he spent with Madeline Smith. He could remember her last moments so clearly that it caused him physical pain. He'd taken so much Vicodin since then that he'd had to delve into his secret stashes, because his friends refused to prescribe him more. When he ran out, he spent the day clutching a bottle of whiskey. He was so drunk he couldn't even catch the tennis ball when he bounced it off the wall. It kept coming back and hitting him in the chest. Every time he closed his eyes he heard her again, those words that led her into sleep, and then death. _I don't wanna die_.

He heard the door open behind him, but he didn't bother turning to see who it was. His lackeys had been coming and going all month, checking up on him, asking for his advice, his counseling, his expertise. It was a brief distraction from the guilt.

Cameron sat down beside him, handing him two Vicodin pills. He took them immediately, setting his whiskey on the coffee table. She pressed her lips together. "You have to come back to work eventually, you know. And shower." She looked around, letting out a sigh. "God, it looks like a tornado came through here."

House shrugged. He hadn't bothered to pick up pizza boxes and empty cartons of Chinese takeout. It meant nothing to him. "Come to drag me back to work?"

She smiled slightly. "No, I just wanted to tell you we have a new case. Sixty-three year old male with ridiculously high blood pressure; not responding to blood thinners. If he stays this way much longer, his heart will give out."

He retrieved his alcohol and took a swig, staring at the wall. "You didn't come to tell me that."

She smirked. "I just… I wanted to tell you that lying here, grieving, isn't good for you. If you get up, do your job, live your life… you'll start feeling better."

He looked at her, weighing her honestly. She was painfully sincere. "Is that how you got over thyroid-cancer guy?"

She cringed, but nodded. "I had to move on with my life." She thought a moment, and then scooted backwards, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with him and staring at the same wall. He heard her take a breath, preparing herself. "But he's not the example I would use."

"Who?" House wondered.

"… My son, Aiden. He was… two months old when he died." Her voice was broken up, prompting House to look over at her. He saw a familiar glaze in her eyes. "It's hard to lose kids… we love them so much, we care for them, we give them everything they need… and then they're gone, and there's nothing we can do about it."

"How did you get over him?"

"Time. I kept my mind busy and studied until I passed out every night." She looked at him, blinking to make the glassiness go away. "It got better. But this," she motioned around, "This isn't going to help you at all. You have to get out of here."

He sighed, running his hand up his right thigh. It was still aching, despite the Vicodin. He could hear Wilson in his head, telling him it was emotional pain, not physical, but he shut the voice down. Pain was pain. It wouldn't go away until he found a way to run from it. Cameron was right. This place was depressing, and it smelled like festering cheese and rotting Chinese vegetables. He needed to consume himself with work so Madeline would get out of his head.

"Fine. You win. Let's go." He struggled to his feet, rolling his eyes when Cameron poised herself to catch him. "I'm not _that_ old." He motioned toward his cane, which was sticking out of a large hole in the drywall. "Make yourself useful and fetch that."

She retrieved his weapon of choice, and then gasped when he popped her in the leg with it. "Hey! What was that for?" She rubbed her shin.

"For being right. It's annoying when it's not me doing it. Let's go."

XxX

Cuddy sat kneading the corners of the exam chair, her eyes on the closed door. Every now and then she couldn't stop herself from grinning, one hand touching her stomach, but soon after the dread would set in. Four positive pregnancy tests confirmed that she was going to be a mother, but was it the sperm donor she'd chosen, or her ill-tempered employee? Not knowing was killing her.

Finally one of the clinic's rotation doctors came in with her folder. She smiled as she approached, holding it out to Cuddy. "The results are back. Your baby is healthy, but it's too early to test for hereditary diseases and other complications. We also can't determine the sex for at least another three weeks." She stepped to Cuddy's side and pointed to the right side of the chart, where three sets of DNA markers had been compared. The two on the far side matched. "I know it's not the news you wanted, but Gregory House is definitely the father."

Cuddy drew in a breath. "Months of trying with In Vitro… and just one time with House…" She stared at the DNA comparisons, biting her lip. "I need you to destroy this."

"You're not going to tell him?"

"He's currently merging with the fabric of his couch, he can wait," she responded, handing the folder back. "There can be no record that I was here. See to that."

"Yes, Doctor Cuddy." She headed for the door, but paused and looked back. "Doctor House was outside when I came in. I think he was heading for the break room."

Cuddy smiled. "Thanks."

When the doctor had left the room, Cuddy put her hand on her stomach again. The odds had been against her from the beginning, but now her greatest desire – motherhood – was conflicting with her fear of House's insanity. How could she bring a child into this world, just to expose them to his reckless behavior? How did she know he wouldn't run from this? How could she know how he would react to this news? She couldn't. She didn't want to.

"Sorry, kid," she whispered, running her fingers up her belly. "I can't do that to you."

The doctor came back in with some vitamins, smiling. "Here, I thought you might like something to help the baby grow. They're designed for older, first time mothers."

"Thanks, but… I don't think I'll be needing them. I need you to schedule a procedure for me."

Her face darkened, but she nodded. "Whatever you want."

XxX

House slid into a booth opposite Wilson in the cafeteria, snagging one of his French fries before he could defend them. Wilson narrowed his eyes, considering him, and then smiled. "Wow… you look great. Did you _shave_? I hardly recognize you without the caveman beard."

He touched his face, nodding. "I'm done wallowing. It's time to get back on the horse." He reached for the fries again, but Wilson slapped his hand away. "Come on, I've been living off pizza and take-out for the last month. Cut me some slack."

"Fine." Wilson slid the plate to him, folding his arms over his chest. He watched him eat for a moment, and then smiled like an idiot again. "I owe Cameron fifty bucks."

House paused, then laughed. "They're learning from me."

"I can't believe you fell for her sob story."

"I didn't _fall_ for it," House objected. "I let her think I was all better so she'd shut up about her dead kid already. God, her voice is annoying."

"Sure."

"That's what happened."

"If you say so."

He threw a ketchup-covered fry across the table, smacking Wilson in the face with it. Wilson let it rolled down his cheek and onto the flat surface in front of his arms, cringing. House shoved a few more in his mouth. "You gonna take that from a cripple?"

Wilson picked up a fry, covered it in ketchup, and wiped it across House's forehead. He smirked. "We're even. Nice war paint, by the way."

House picked up the ketchup bottle and threatened him with it, dodging around his defensive hand and squirting it onto his shirt. "Whoops."

XxX

Cuddy sat at her desk, rubbing her forehead. "You started a _food fight_? I understand this coming from House, but _you_, Wilson?" She stood up, passing by the ketchup and mustard drenched men and opening the bathroom door. "Get cleaned up. You look ridiculous." When both of them headed for the bathroom, she held her hand up. "No, one at a time. You two are to stay separated for the rest of the day. God, it's like I hired ten-year-old boys instead of _grown men_."

Wilson went into the bathroom, his head hanging, while House remained outside. He was licking the condiments from his arm. "You know, this relish isn't so bad," he remarked. "I should try it on a hotdog sometime."

She shook her head, sitting on the corner of her desk. "Once you're washed off, you're going down there to clean that mess up."

"But _mom_."

She couldn't help a slight smile. "I don't want to hear it. If you can act like a child, you can be punished like a child. And stop dragging Wilson down with you."

"All the good villains have accomplices."

She rolled her eyes. "If you ever have kids, God help them, because-" She froze midsentence, her thoughts rushing to her stomach. Oh, yeah, _that_. House eyed her suspiciously, pausing in the middle of licking a dab of mustard from his shirt. "Just… do your job and let Wilson do his."

He approached her desk, snaking around her. "There's no way I'm letting it go that easy. I saw you hesitate. What are you hiding?"

She met his eyes, shaking her head. "You're paranoid."

"No… but now I'm interested."

_That's just great_, she thought. He was like a dog with a bone now. He wouldn't leave her alone until he knew exactly what had made her hesitate. She had to be stronger than him until it was over, then she could honestly say there was nothing to hide.

"Is your scar bothering you?" he wondered, prodding at her side, where her stab wound had been covered with soft, shiny scar tissue.

She slapped his hand away. "Stop that. It hasn't hurt in weeks."

"Then it's a secret. I like secrets. They're so… secretive." He sat beside her on the desk, using a napkin to remove part of an apple from the fold of his shirt. He spoke quietly, so that Wilson wouldn't hear. "Is it that time of the month?"

"Get out of here, Jesus," she snapped, standing and going to her chair. She rolled her eyes when Wilson poked his head out of the bathroom, looking confused. "Both of you. Get down there and start cleaning."

"But my leg hurts."

"I don't care. It was fine when you were throwing food at people, it'll be fine while you're cleaning it up." She met his eyes, daring him to object. "Go, House."

When they'd finally gone, she rested her head in her hands, drawing deep breaths to chase away the anxiety. She wasn't going to raise his child. She wasn't going to sit at home, worrying, while he spent his time in bars, taking pills, and putting himself in dangerous situations. She wasn't going to put up with his childishness. He was a flight-risk, and raising a kid was a lifelong commitment. She wouldn't do that to a child, or to herself.

But the more she thought about getting rid of it, the more she wanted to keep it. For every reason she came up with for destroying the fetus, ten more popped up telling her to protect it. So what if he wasn't around? She was strong enough to do it on her own. She had enough money to support herself and a child, she had a nice home, job security, and good insurance. She was ready to be a mother, so ready that having House as the father didn't seem like such an obstacle.

Besides, the baby had defied medical reasoning to come into existence. It deserved a chance to prove its strength. Maybe it would be a good thing. Maybe it would make her life better.

Or maybe it would ruin everything.


	14. Opposite

_**Three Weeks Later**_

"Your son tested negative for the genetic disorders most common in older mothers, and those he would be at risk for according to your family history. We also tested him for the conditions you specified and we ran a full chromosomal panel to check for abnormalities. At this time you can expect a normal pregnancy and a healthy baby, Doctor Cuddy."

She let out a breath she'd been holding. Her hand was trembling against the cold vinyl of the exam table. "Oh, God, thank you. I'm so used to getting bad news."

Smiling, the doctor wrote something on her chart. "Well, not this time. We'll set the due date as the end of August, but babies tend to decide that kind of stuff on their own. Do you want a copy of the ultrasound?"

"Uh, yes, of course." She thrummed her fingers on the table, waiting while the machine burned the images to a disc. She had an entire room planned out in her head, covered in blue now that she knew she'd have a boy. She couldn't wait to hear her mom get excited over the video of him wriggling around in there. He looked more like an alien than a baby at the moment, and it wasn't yet obvious that he was male, but his chromosomes didn't lie.

When the doctor handed her a white square with the DVD tucked safely inside, she slid from the table and pulled out her cellphone. It had been vibrating uncontrollably since she'd gotten to her appointment. She's missed seventeen calls from House.

"Alright, I'll see you in four weeks," the doctor said, leading her from the exam room to the front desk, where he shook her hand and smiled again. "I'm glad we made it here, Lisa."

She grinned. "It's so unreal."

"You should bring the father next time – I know you haven't told him yet, but it's important to have someone there to share your happiness. Memories are important, you know." He touched her shoulder and then went back into the exam room, waiting for his next patient to arrive.

Cuddy was still smiling as she walked out of the crowded OBG-YN office, but it faded as soon as she saw House sitting on a bench nearby. He smiled at her in that 'I caught you' kind of way he had, patting the metal beside him. She considered making a mad dash for her car, but she imagined her son sloshing around inside – though, as a doctor, she knew that wouldn't happen.

She sat beside him, staring at the parking lot. How much did he know? Had he solved the entire mystery, or was he still toying with the first piece?

"So, there's finally a bun in that cobweb-filled oven."

She scowled. "How did you find me?"

"Followed you. You're not very secretive for someone with a secret."

Some days she wished he would go back to sitting on his couch, pitying himself. He was in the distraction stage of grief, occupying himself with tormenting those around him to take the weight off of his shoulders. He'd been a bigger ass than usual for the last three weeks, investigating her relentlessly, sending his staff to spy on her. She'd finally given up on her way to this appointment, knowing she'd find out the gender of her baby, and whether or not he would suffer for her age. She'd been too excited to worry about House's snooping.

It was coming back to bite her now. She looked over at him, finding nothing but his usual immature, mocking expression. He didn't have the whole story yet. "You're right," she responded quietly, sitting back and looking at the clouds.

He smirked. "Do we need to visit Jerry Springer anytime soon?"

It was definitely a joke, but Cuddy didn't see that at the time. She thought he was prodding at the idea of being the father. She thought he already knew, and that he just wanted her to admit it. Her respond came out shaky and high-pitched. "Why would we need to do that?"

He stared at her, bewildered.

She swallowed, cleared her throat, and pulled her keys from her jacket pocket. "I have to go. Now. I have to go right now." She scurried for her car, every curse she knew running through her head. The look on his face burned into memory. He knew. It was time to panic. It was time to face the storm that would come as soon as he came out of his trance.

She drove away without looking in his direction. Her back tire popped over the curb, startling her. She pulled out in front of someone and slipped into the next lane just before they collided with her back bumper. She went straight home and tried to distract herself by washing the dishes, only to cut her finger on a knife and then trip on her way to the bathroom.

She pulled herself together after an hour. She sat alone on her couch, flipping through the channels, fiddling with the edge of the blanket covering her lap. She was exhausted, but she didn't want to sleep. What if House came over to talk about the pregnancy? She didn't want him to be in the dark. No matter how scared she was, he was still her friend. He deserved what little comfort she could offer him. Or what if he went completely over the deep end and set her house on fire? Her worries kept her up, and the later she was awake the stranger her concerns became. At one point she imagined she was going to go into labor.

XxX

Cuddy woke slumped over the armrest of her couch, the remote still resting in her outstretched hand. She groaned as she curled up, her fingers tingling as the blood returned to them. Her clock read four in the morning. She heard a soft sound coming from far away. It must've been what had woken her. She twisted, pulling her phone from between the couch cushions and squinting at the screen. It was House. She turned onto her back and stretched before answering.

"House… we need to talk."

"I know." His voice was gravelly, just like hers. He'd been asleep as well. "Can you let me in? I swear I thought I knew where your key was."

She heard a soft knock at the door and rolled her eyes. Of course he was outside. She found him sitting against the wall, wearing a pair of boxers, a T-shirt, and a ratty old robe. His cane had been balanced against the door and it fell inside as she opened it. He looked up at her, groggy, but sober. His breath billowed out in visible clouds.

"Come inside," she said, helping him up and guiding him into the living room. While he sat heavily on her couch she picked up his cane and locked the door. It was freezing outside. She sat in the chair, grabbing the blanket and wrapping herself up. Her TV was muted, but she couldn't remember where she'd put the remote after waking up, so she just stared at the brightly-colored cartoon. She didn't want to hear the bad voice-acting anyway.

House ran his hand absently over the jagged scar on his thigh, also watching the television. He spoke quietly, seriously. "Sorry I knocked you up."

She snorted, unable to stop the laughter from bubbling up. She looked over, finding a reflexive smile on his face. "You are unbelievable."

"Am I allowed to refute it, or…?"

"DNA confirmed it already," she said. She thought a moment, then added, "It's a boy. Clean bill of health so far. I… saw him on an ultrasound today. I have the DVD, if you want to see it."

"No, I believe you." He looked at the TV again, his eyes unfocused. He spoke in a detached voice. "I'm not gonna… you can keep it, or whatever. I'll pay whatever you want. But I'm not…" He stood up suddenly, taking his cane without looking away from the TV. "It's yours. All yours. Congratulations, Cuddy."

He left without another word. She stayed where she was, confused, hurt, and stunned by his words. For a moment she thought he might act like a normal person. For a moment she imagined the three of them together, like a normal family. But he took that image away from her. Still, his reaction wasn't as drastic as she'd imagined. He wasn't asking for her to get rid of the baby. He wasn't panicking. He just made it clear that he wasn't going to raise it. She'd been determined to raise it on her own already, but hearing it from him… actually confirming that she was in this by herself… it hit harder than she'd expected.

She'd actually wanted him to do the opposite.


End file.
